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Feb 2015
I lay in bed, and suddenly, a pain, from my toes to my head.
It shoots through my body, jolting me and making me feel weird, thoughts run through my head as I search. Only to find an arrow in my knee. Cupid, **** you, you little flying heathen. You got me, but I don't wanna celebrate, who do I love? No one in this world can love a person like me, no one loves scars, cupid.
Leave me alone, and tell me when Valentines day passes.
A little poem-thing about Valentines, a lot of us dread it because we don't have what that day celebrates. Love.
Quentin House
Written by
Quentin House  Willard, MO.
(Willard, MO.)   
324
   Gunnyr Johnson
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