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This Is Real
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October 2002 Poetry You’re running,
faster with each step.
You want to wake,
from this horror,
that you call a dream.
But this is real.
As real as the knife,
I just stabbed in your back.
And as real as the blood,
gushing from your veins.
You never thought,
I’d get so dark and demented,
till you hit the ground,
screaming in pain.
Reality hit you.
You’re dead,
and this is real.
~*~ Jill ~*~
