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Mar 2017
Shower of hell pours down into your being.

You cast others as dust to your kind of soul.

Shallow stains with only pity.

Ye hold no hate raft only take its place.

You do know you are of strange depitions.

So be kind, and not too overly stern for you shall seek love of beauty.

Death is a font in style with harsh structure.

Huge door, like sentences knock down your barriers let the pure light Pierce threw.

And you will become of some thang new.

Until this day, you are meaner, than a stage full of people with a mild cast of rage.

Sad tears flood, your place you need a life saver yet you shrug at that too.

I met you last summer and you where kind and polite.

Now you are meaner, and denser than effects can construct.

So I'll ask what made you this way?

Was it the death, of your friend that took his life by the "knife blood driping" down as a mother pulls it out.

The fog of that very moment hazed your light.

Now you persit to overwhelm your life with your own made strees.

Yes it was that I miss his friend ship.
Of a old lost friend.
Written by
Timothy hill  Ny
(Ny)   
279
 
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