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Monday, September 27, 2004


Poetry Posse

-THE HOURGLASS-

In the center of an isolated room,
Sits an hourglass filled with blood,
But crimson be not its color,
For it as black as tar,
And thick as mud,
While an eerie aura disperses from it,
And inside those glass walls,
Suffocates a pale figure,
Without any delay or hesitation,
My legs carry me to the struggling creature,
And with all the strength within me,
I strike upon the glass repeatedly,
Until a crack is heard above all the commotion,
I am soon caught by surprise,
As shards scatter everywhere,
And the potent liquid oozes and boils,
Upon the cold marble floor,
And in the midst of this,
Spewing out vomit hunches the creature,
I reach for its quivering body,
As i wipe the blood from its face,
I am awestruck by the sight,
For the creature is not a creature at all,
But a girl small in stature,
Almost like looking in mirror,
I am amazed to see,
That this dying girl is me...

-END-

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