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by vivian Jun 9, 2006 category : Miscellaneous / Misc. poems
He had the featherred pen in his hand he schrunced his eyes to understandtapping his toes deleting the foes numbers in his head couldnt work them out, he should have thought ahead he did not got to bed so he will fail sick of the thought he turned a ghostly pale just remeber study before your brain turns to puddy