Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
A Backhanded Love Song
It's never the memories,
It's that hoarde of feelings
Leaves me empty of tears now,
Until my eyes are like stones,
And my heart a fist pulped in its beating,
And all my hard-headed sense
Nothing but sharp, broken pieces.
So understand, my love,
The thought of you means nothing -
The passion is mine. Alone.
poem
by
J.P. Dullahan
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black