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In my days here as a
hermin I live without
worry,
But there was a time where
I could not breath without
your whisper being mine,
There was a time where I
thought you were my life,
Where you were what lifted
me to the heavens,
Now I wither from your
demise,
Can't this story ever end happy?
I fear that it is ending and a
new story begins with the
shead of tears into a river
upon a hill side sorrow...
©2008-2009 ~DevilArtist666
:icondevilartist666:

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:iconlagosie:
I rly like this poem. Reflects kinda how I feel now.

Just I'm going through the process and fear that this will happen. ='(

--
When the Rich wage war, it's the Poor that die.

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May 1, 2008
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