him....
i love him i hate him, its all the same. because in the end it was all just a game.
him....
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
Title | Comments | Submitted |
---|---|---|
Title | Comments | Submitted |
what too say. | 2 | 12/16/2008 |
puzzle | 1 | 12/16/2008 |
him.... | 1 | 12/16/2008 |
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.