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inhabitants of death, lurk, hate gives it its mood, as odor
Depression often strikes.
to the heartland of my soul,
"Isnít it pretty?"
...the ever welcomed;
love, true friendship, happiness;
never come to this seemingly unwelcoming place.
Many peak into the opening of this place,
leave scared, violated and hated.
Strangers, often, donít know
what they are getting themselves into,
My property trampled on.
Graffiti on the two walls
of this one-sided place.
Hate from this place often strikes
When they leave this place of hate,
they close the fenced door of this cold alley way
and told to
" Never come back.",
as loneliness comes back
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