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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#14801voted by our readers
By xxDreamDealerxx BRONZE
Dix Hills, New York
Footsteps behind me; Hard to think, hard to breathe. My killer's catching up to me With a knife he'll use to cleave. But when I look behind me, No one's there...
Dix Hills, New York
Footsteps behind me; Hard to think, hard to breathe. My killer's catching up to me With a knife he'll use to cleave. But when I look behind me, No one's there...