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They grew tired of not acknowledging us, sick through neglecting to see our miserable plights, our leaden hopes failing to ascend.1by Floydish 600 words, on Oct 27 11:11 AM
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The Night is upon it, but the City never sleeps. The lurid and listless lights alike illuminate its streets. Its many bar’s music merges with the sound of socialites socialising. Achieving anonymity in such a setting is no acby Floydish 600 words, on Mar 25 10:37 AM
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‘Like one on a lonesome road who, / Doth walk in fear and dread, / And having once turned round, walks on, / And turns no more his head; /
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I can’t say, ‘It was the right thing to do’. I can’t say, ‘No regrets’. 1 / I can’t say, ‘I’m a good person’.2 / But at least now, I can s
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