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Archives 2002-01-16 - 2:40 a.m.


It's all a metaphor, I was told.

Of what, I do not know.

Hate, I do not have.

Yet love, I cannot endure.

Sirens, off like a celebration.

Warning me, in desperation.

In the waning hours, I cannot tell.

It's all just a bit like hell.

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