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You are what molds the pain that I release;
you also create my enemies as I sit here in this filth; stained clothes, tears bleeding from my eyes; you stop me from giving in, you help me cope, as I watch the nicotine turn my skin allowing sweat to seep from every pore; You are what disables the insanity and lets me know it will be okay ...eventually You are what creates the dreams I ignore; because they cannot exist elsewhere; as I scrounge to find any unshattered piece of any positive thing-left in me; you try to help me find it underneath, the ink that sets in my dirty skin; the anger hiding within; bags beneath my eyes; you try to diminish it before it begins... but it's semi-pointless; with my emotions so unclear promoting a nervousness; impossible to prevail; from this misery setting in my tangled hair you allow sense to come of this. So, thanks, I guess. Deanna Prall Nov7/06 Vote for this poem
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