

Confessions of a Poet Confessions of a PoetConfessions of a Poet
Poetry, pain, It's all the same. Both hurt, both drain,
drive me crazy
make me insane. I hurt myself for the pleasures of others. They read, I suffer. Pull me up,
only to push me under.
I hate myself!!!
Read my stuff, You'll know. With this ink, my blood flows. Killing myself slowly, You watch by reading. I can't stop writing, or stop myself from bleeding.
--hft2004
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