Painful Soul

Pain is My Friend
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PropellerAds
2005-01-25 15:01:57 (UTC)

Poem #27

Crimson paint spills.
It's all over her arms.
She doesn't care.
She keeps drawing the pictures.
The crimson keeps pouring out.
She stops,
Looks at what she's done,
And smiles.
It feels good to feel the crimson pour out...


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