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Aug 2016
The folly of youth and time wasted. How I would run down the halls of my past and bleed the corpses of yesterday. A chance to feel pure once again, thou I never did at all. We waste the present with abandon and never consider the challenge of tomorrow, until it's far to late. Still there are flowers that bloom, women that wither, and people that take themselves to hell screaming the woes of beauty found in a self imposed mediocrity. ~a.c.
Alan Harley Clark
Written by
Alan Harley Clark  California
(California)   
281
 
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