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poems

Growing Apart

You keep saying all the wrong things
You keep forgetting what you really want
And you rush headlong to winter
Where it’s cold and pretty
And pretty cold

** This was written in the pocket notebook I carry around, wherever I go — office, a fastfood joint, under the sea, down the rabbit hole, to the North Pole to visit Santa. These lines just leaped out of my head while listening to a couple of songs in Grooveshark.

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About Anna

A 30-something female awed/delighted/floored with anything horror. Known to kick-start her days with coffee. Indulges in chocolates, blogging, writing, and reading. Attracted to the offbeat and the quirky / the odd and the strange / the weird and the eerie.

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