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Following Death's Footsteps
sincere sadness in solitude leaves dry
tears of lost
years with
peers. I have more
fears of
queers than dying it
appears. When death
rears its stone head for attention, I
merely sigh hoping he has
ears and if so he
hears. I
steer in his direction in order to stumble
near his non-affectionate touch, but he
clearly avoids me, leaving me alone to cry dry
tears.
-Mr.Strangedub
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