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Sunday, May 15, 2005


Another poem..not sure if I can use this one either...
It was almost three a.m.
None were coming to save him.
As he wrote his last goodbye.

A crumpled note by the door.
A torn picture on the floor.
A truth he couldn’t deny.

And he slipped out the widow,
Fell down to the streets below
Just a stain on the concrete.

Never liking reality
And dreaming of fantasy.
Only death made him complete

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