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Before Her 18th Year

In all my dispair,
they still want me to spare.
a life no longer being lived.
a young life that has withered,
before its 17th year.
but yet, they still want me to be silent, they seem to really hate me, as far as i can see.
and still no matter how much i smile,
i'm dying on the inside all the while.
but they are all blind, and dont't
see death happening right in front

of them, now i'm am quit. and
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Mike Schliemann 21 May 2010

Nice poem, pretty deep =)

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