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My heart is now broken. The only woman that I've ever told those three words to and meant it has rejected me.
Pain is now a way of life, and I've never felt it this deeply before. It seems to be my best friend.
Like the nameless killer that roams the misty night streets.
Who has no face, but knows yours well.
Seeing demons and bunny rabbits
dancing in the mud,all the while crying tears of blood.
Example of personal hell
Frightening the frightener.
Knowing the only end to the pain
is to find another wanderer,
and taste the blood again.

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The following comments are for "Molte Libre (Comments are encouraged)"
by Robert Walker

I enjoyed this, but it seems to have a few problems with flow. I'm not overly picky though, as you might see with my own poetry, I really only care about the metaphor and imagery and yours are lovely. Very nice.

( Posted by: shefallssoftly [Member] On: February 8, 2005 )

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