Alright (all rite)
I want to write but I just find plight,
sitting with me on such a dark night.
It is my rite to be able to write,
even if my mind starts to bite.
Nothing is right in my mind of blight,
stirring with a useless might.
Though you fill me with spite,
and you drown my light,
I still will be able to procure my rite.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
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