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One of my poems im trying to work on.


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Sweet as a mothers lullaby, as kind as fading memories, falling like a bright sunset, crying like a rainy day.

 

A pool of blood is sweet at death, kind to [/color][/size][/font]your released stress and nothings better then the fall you made when you slit your throat and left crying without any vain. Tonight is such a holiday.

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