depresson rips through my heart like the cold sharp point of a dart every tear that comes fom me is like evey broken branch of a sickly tree as every heart beat draws closer to the end the pain of a knife becomes more of a trend as the need for it becomes stronger every day all these dark feelings will never go away
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Christopher Daniel (184.108.40.206) -- Saturday, June 3 2006, 01:09 am|
its not bad
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