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Artist's Comments
Suffocating the Rose
Sometimes poetry hurts my soul. My body aches at the truth. bleeding through the cut page. My mind stumbles across the timber, splinters in its feet. Where is love in poetry? In the wind of words or maybe in its sail. What is love in poetry? A heart cut open to view the shy center or a sack of red roses thrown into the blue frothing sea, perhaps smash against the rocks that line the shore. Love is useless, salt spray in the humble air. Poetry by ~toptecky ------------------------------------- Please Advanced Crit Thanks Angels |
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Comments
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*Dark-Arts-Asylum's Archangel, Room 676
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"Call me wicked, cruel, and merciless.Call me whatever you will, so as long as you love me.." - Armand.
Anne Rice
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I like rice. Rice is great if you're hungry and want 2000 of something.
~ Mitch Hedberg
Most truths can only be expressed as circular paradoxes
~Speaker for the Dead
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I like rice. Rice is great if you're hungry and want 2000 of something.
~ Mitch Hedberg
Most truths can only be expressed as circular paradoxes
~Speaker for the Dead
--
I like rice. Rice is great if you're hungry and want 2000 of something.
~ Mitch Hedberg
Most truths can only be expressed as circular paradoxes
~Speaker for the Dead
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Help me...I broke apart my insides.
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