

Lost LoveYour lifeless body strewn out before me. I take your cold hands and grasp them dearly. Who has killed you, my love? It was thine own hands. They plucked away your life, only on your finger left a band. You dug the knife into thine own heart. for you thought you'd be able to tear you and him apart. Blood running from thy gentle breast as the knife stuck out and into yourself it pressed. Your crimson red liquid, so thick, dark, and pure; Killing yourself you thought was the only cure. I, shedding a tear upon thy sweet, pale, face. He led you to maddness then death; a disgrace. &nLost Love
Why don't you join the poetry contest from [link] ?
It's free and every nitwit such as myself who enters gets a small gift
but someone like you might win one of their $10 000 or $100 000 prizes.
keep up the great work
xx
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"Poets, being a small, introverted group, spend a lot of time clubbing each other over obscurities."
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