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Poetry: This pain

by Dena Woods

Created on: January 06, 2010

This pain I feel is sick and red,

I don't even want to get out of bed.

To feel this pain everyday,

You just can't go outside and play.

You want to cry your self to sleep,

Your sick of counting so many sheep.

This pain starts from  your heart,

Then spreads to all your body parts.

This pain is will last until I die,

So every night all I do is cry.



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