What the hell.
Don't you wish?
I wish the fog would clear up.
I wish the forums to be real, creative, honest would just appear.
the veins in my body, the poems in me head the lust for life, love, poverty sobrietuy everything else would just appear and make life more beautiful.
it has in some way. but death still stalks
I think of beautiful things like anything besides my self.
I am not beautiful
I am not ugly.
I don't even really exist.
none of this is real
did I spoil the ending for you?
am I skimming the surface?
course not. now its time to die.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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