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Journal.
I live,
And I'll die.
I'll lose myself again.
I've left it all behind,
So many times I've
Crossed the line
And I never forgave myself.
I'm picking roses
From desperate patches in my head.
With each lie I weave,
I find the pain of guilt
Less and less.






User Comments: [1] [add]
Rengetsu Chan
Community Member
avatar
commentCommented on: Mon Aug 11, 2008 @ 08:03am
Poetry is very interesting, it's like a riddle ;o
it's also very personal~ but maybe that's why it's often not obvious what the meaning is.


User Comments: [1] [add]
 
 
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