Sestina Depression Poems

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Details | Sestina |
Days pass into the weak, loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath Van Gogh’s brush, as he links.
Comet light passes twisting cypresses, a schizophrenic’s concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees, and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightning bugs mimic the stars. Atoms sneer.

Those who spout love and friendship abandon him, sneering.
Their images dance beneath his lids, when he blinks.
Though denied a compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, he still connects, links
with the life which absorbs and excludes him, not complaining.
Nights pass without his mistress, Sien. His mind is concussive.

His face trembles torn in the brass sounds of the storm’s concussions.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, all of them, sneer. 
How unmerciful, this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain.
If lack of mercy is just, may he not know why? Time blinks.
Thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him, he links.
He accepts art and the pain, as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.

Voices, the paint, the moon, the voices say, reciprocate.
He chases mice. The cheese plate falls with a loud concussion.
He rubs his gnarled hands across his lids. He maintains the link. 
How? Why? But, the mice eating his cheese only sneer.
The sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in their vase, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls attempting to sit, the chair does not complain.

He had thought God clear as sunlight; yet, the paint complained. 
He was not God; he could not capture the light. He must reciprocate.
After all, who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust; life blinks.
Ah death, le grand mal, no minor concussion,
He must escape, join the celestial spin, and avoid their sneers.
Sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, not linking.

The brushes call. He prostitutes himself. Oil spills, connecting, linking.
Theo, brother, never would he forgive. Many others would complain.
Ah, Gauguin, His dear friend, he would understand and not sneer.
If God was truly a loving God, surely, he thought; God will not reciprocate.
The mockers who did not live in Dante’s nine levels of hellish concussion,
they will call his actions cowardly. Merciless, they did not live between the blinks.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sestina |
I hate my deeds & 
everbody hates me
It's a fact and I know it
I am a burden so heavy 
I am a curse so dark
I am a person , i'hv bones
Not just a reason to 
throw stones

Copyright © Fatima Hasan Zaidi | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |
This poem is written in the Sestina form.

Raw Emotion

Under the cloak of anger,
In a world full of despair,
Surrounded by misery and pain,
Engulfed in darkness,
Loss of hope,
No control.

To keep oneself under control,
Fight through the darkness, confront your anger,
Don’t give in to despair, search for hope,
The search can be painful and full of despair,
Lead me out of this angry darkness,
Help me control the pain.

I can’t deal with this pain,
I am lost in the darkness, out of control,
Totally lost, totally dark,
Searching, hoping, use that anger!,
Break through the darkness, conquer despair,
It is within your control, give in to hope.

Despair is neutralized within the realm of hope,
You cannot control the pain,
Anger is the offspring of despair,
Which cannot be defeated, only controlled,
This desperate child named anger,
Sits silently cold, in the darkness.

God, relieve me of this anger, take this darkness,
End this pain, restore my hope,
Give me the control to master this anger,
So I can leave the darkness and end the pain,
I am asking for less anger and more control,
Grant my prayer, O’ Lord, end my despair.

Totally lost and completely desperate,
Angry and confused within the dark,
Hopelessly lost, losing control,
Searching for answers, needing hope,
To lift this darkness and end the pain,
I don’t want to be controlled by this anger.

Never get so desperate as to lose control,
Even if it’s painful and dark,
Rely on hope to deal with that anger.

Original poem written by S.Ronthorpe
© 2011

Copyright © Samual Ronthorpe | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sestina |

Standing on a tower, more than three hundred feet
She was watching a movie of her life,
in her head, as tears fall, and she tries to smile
She spread her arms like wings
Tears still falling, but she wants to fly
She closes her eyes, and held her head

Should have known better, her expectations too high
She's someone with two legs but can't stand on her feet
She may have been breathing, but she did not have life
She's undead blend with living, greet them with a fake smile.
And at night when she breaks, she would grasp for her wings
She forgot she was human, and therefore cannot fly.

How she wanted to fly!
More than thousand feet high
Never walk on her feet
And explore her whole life
Maybe then she could smile
She would look for those wings

She'd been hoping for wings
For she wanted to fly
She wanted to be happy, like she's on sugar high
Like someone lift her up, and swept her off of her feet
How she long for it! She wanted that her whole life
She just wanted to be happy, she just wanted to smile. 

But it takes all her strength, just to muster one smile
For all that's left was a set of broken wings
Never better than angels, even worse than a fly.
Always falls at the bottom, and no chance to get high
Always stuck on the ground, with her two broken feet
She was tired of these things, she was tired of this life

There was no one out there who cares for her life
But she tried to be strong, while she wear a fake smile
She cried out for help, but they pulled out her wings
Screaming "Girl, you are human, and therefore cannot fly!"
She know it herself, but is it bad to aim high?
"I will show them," she says, as she ran on her feet

Life, now hanging on a tower, more than three hundred feet
She wears a real smile while she stood way up high
Spread her arms just like wings, took off--- and fly.

Copyright © Julie Anne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |
My path beyond the shores of time
from life to there are maritime ripples.
Harrowing blades of rain
hammered from storm-clouds shatter puddles
of glass to rolling streams of echoes,
Misery’s trail towards cleansing waters:

A bloody throat gasping for water 
is my alarm clock each day, it hurts all the time.
I drink and gurgle, but none of it matters, echoes
butcher my esophagus with hack-saw ripples
as knees tumble to drown in rusty puddles;
My lungs are a prison withered by the warden’s reign.

This morning I woke to the 13th straight day of rain
in Houston.  From my condo overlooking the water 
Clear Lake slept like a sidewalk puddle.
In July, humidity is a visceral sweater, sweltered by time
stitched in ‘X’s and needle-strung ripples
suffocating ragdolls in sweat-stained  echoes.

I took my coffee on the balcony.  Through iron-rods came an echo
redolent the voice of an angel; “Why’s it gotta rain
all the time, daddy?” she asked in wavy curls and golden ripples.
More clever then, I quickly responded, “Because god has to water 
his plants, Ava, that’s why it rains all the time.”
It used to be I smiled as she twirled through puddles.

The morning sky darkened as shadowy thorns continued to puddle.
Nearby lightning cracks hid from thundery echoes.
With each explosion my locomotive doubled its time;
Faster and faster screaming and taunting the rain,
inebriated veins screeching “Ice-water!” -
…and then a stillness overtook me.  The warden sighed a calm ripple;

From a dream my eyes bathed in tranquil ripples
of shimmering obsidian disguised as puddles.
Behind me were footsteps painted with water.
A song  I knew from Radiohead was echoing
a muffled chorus through sliding glass doors; “broken hearts make it rain,
broken hearts make it rain” and I remembered a happier time.

Then ripples staggered down my spine.   Tingling echoes
were  empty puddles violated by rain in my fingers and toes.
I again looked down at the water and thought, “Better get movin’, it’s breakfast time.”

2nd Place in contest "Rain" judged 9/10/16

Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |
He sat behind me in class
His only demeanor to cause distraction
Till the day he caught my eye.
The day he turned my life into a roller-coaster.
It began with a yawn and a kiss,
Little did I know he would change my life.

I didn’t know if he’d be the love of my life,
I mean I just met him in class.
We only had one little kiss
But already he’s becoming a distraction.
He’s changing the speed of our roller-coaster.
But that doesn’t scare me as I look in his eyes.

And because of the look in his eyes
I’m not scared to think of our life
And how even at the bottom of our roller-coaster
I only need to remember that class
To take away from whatever distraction.
So I can treasure every kiss.

But there have been times its not me he kisses
And every time it puts tears in my eyes.
I lay in bed and pray for a distraction
Because it feels as if he ruined my life.
I begin to regret every minute of that class
And we reach the ultimate low of our roller-coaster.

Sometimes I just want to jump off the roller-coaster
And forget all about that first kiss,
Go back in time to the class
So that he never caught my eye.
So that he never became part of my life.
So that he never became a distraction

Because now I need my own distraction
From our scary dangerous roller-coaster.
I’m scared of what he’s doing to my life.
I’m scared of knowing this was our last kiss.
I’m scared these tears will permanently fill my eyes
And I’ll never feel the same as I did in that class

How can I forget about that distracting kiss?
I’ll just close my eyes on the roller-coaster
Because he changed my life in that class.

Copyright © Emileigh Bechtolt | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |
A full heart chokes
too full to feel
anything but broken.
Seems all is lost
and only phantoms linger
must I remain?

A hollow husk, a remnant
yet, engorged and choking 
on maudlin memories lingering
I cannot stop the feelings
the haunted thoughts of loss
surrounded by what’s broken.

Rise up, wrap, beribboned breaks 
yes, I must remain
for others have a need not lost
in pointless, pitiful sobs and choking.
Regain, search, reform to feel
the worth of love which lingers.

A man child grown who has lingered
past the vows which broke 
too full, still, with anger of his own to feel
I must remain 
anxious, prone, and choking
for forgiveness must not be lost.

Let it be forgiveness loosing
let sweet reminiscence linger
let the bond of love live unbroken
though soon I must go and he remain
and naught will be left to feel.

For there are many types of feelings
and many ways to lose
what remains
what lingers
the broken

Be gone death and loss
remain but joy a lingering
repair my broken life un-choked by grief.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |
If i could exhale, really exhale,
To expire the rubble of the ages, 
1000 years of dread off my belly,
and my fingertips once so dainty
then could grasp stars and not burn,
 I dig my face into the dirt and find eternity.

i gazed into the jackals eyes and he spoke to me from eternity
he said "follow closely so that i might teach you to exhale
and maybe dear in return a smile upon your face will burn"
an expression lost on my brittle jaw for ages
so i walk upon the crust of the earth now bruised and dainty
yet i feel growth between my toes and swelling in my belly

woe does bewilderment plague me here, tearing up my belly
then a soft green garden snake cradles me into eternity,
i watch her curl and dance across the soil of this dainty
room, she looks back from her slither reminding me to exhale,
have i been lost for all these ages?
or have i simply been afraid to burn?

and thus so is it my place to burn?
for i feel welcomed and smooth yet i have poison in my belly
and tomorrow i will remember the pain of the ages
may i retain the knowledge of eternity
or become bodily again when i exhale?
or have no question that my thoughts and ideas are dainty

i have visions of my presence siting crossed and dainty
breathing barley and quiet as i burn
surrounded by a castle of tones that bring me to exhale
into the mouth of god and back into my belly
i feel my self escaping and gasping for eternity
coming back down to the end of my ages

i could sit and cry for the death of the ages 
but this life i despise growing and rooting, dainty
yes, paltry no, and tattering for the rest of my eternity
yet i recall the jackal and his feet where the earth does burn
and i miss the poison in my belly
it not escapes me, but it crusades me to exhale.

before and after the ages, the world will burn and my body will lie dainty 
on the ground filling her great belly with the poison of eternity cursed to exhale.

Copyright © xtevie fernandez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |
Standing on a tower, more than three hundred feet
As she watched a movie of her life
The rain falls, and she smiled a sad smile
She spread her arms like wings
Tears still falling, but she wanted to fly
Closing her eyes, she lift her head high

Stakes are too high
Cannot stand on her feet
Breathing, but with no life
She's undead with fake smile
And at night when she breaks, she would grasp for her wings
She forgot she was human, she forgot she can't fly

How she wanted to fly!
More than thousand feet high
Never walk on her feet
And explore her whole life
Maybe then she could smile
She would look for those wings

She'd been hoping for wings
For she wanted to fly
Yearning for sugar high
Be swept off of her feet
Oh, she longed for that life
Where she can freely smile

But it's hard just to smile
Left with dull broken wings
Even worse than a fly
And no chance to get high
With her two broken feet
Can't escape in this life.

No one cares for her life
Every day's a fake smile
And they pulled out her wings
Screaming "Girl, you can't fly!"
She let out a sigh, "Is it bad to aim high?"
"I will show them," she says, as she ran on her feet

Life, now hanging, more than three hundred feet
She wears a real smile while she stood way up high
Spread her arms just like wings, took off--and fly.

Copyright © Julie Anne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |
Little girl, you who plays princess with the glittery hat perched on your head,
The ribbons cascading down from its tip, tears from your heavenly eyes,
The scepter of a metal pipe and ball gemstones in your hands,
You have no idea who a princess is. You just pretend.
But really, all you know is a virtual reality,
Separated by electronic walls.

Your path to paradise separated by walls
Of incompetence, little girl. In shame hang your head.
If only you knew your life was a game you already lost, in reality.
When your subjects look upon your tattered dress and your downcast, shady grey eyes,
Go out to your balcony of segregation. Wave and pretend
Their lives are not in your hands.

The world is in your hands.
With them you can slay dragons, knight worthy men, build walls
In your castle, your little realm of pretend.
In it you have corruption and power. Tell them to chop of a man’s head
And that they do, without a glimmer of remorse in their eyes.
Little girl, if only you knew this could never be reality.

The scepter you claim is a diamond, in reality,
Just your mother’s glass necklace, clutched in your hands
To match the long-gone glimmer in your childish eyes.
Throughout the years, little girl, you’ve built all the fake walls
Between the princess of yesteryears and the current fog in your head.
Just remember – you are a marionette. Free will is pretend.

Little girl, you have always played pretend.
It’s your feeble attempt at escaping reality.
But now that your scepter is broken, your kingdom is in your head,
Pouring out onto the paper with a broken heart, a pencil and two hands.
All your impassible, unbreakable walls
Left unbetrayed by your cloudy, lying eyes.

You could never tell the color of your eyes.
On the color spectrum, they fell in lying or pretend.
Little girl keeps building those walls
To put more distance between her own broken soul and reality.
As you grow cold, your pale hands
And arms mimic the destructive bloodshed in your head.

Your impenetrable walls to the secret worlds burrowed inside your head
Little girl’s mastery at lying not even deceived by your eyes, when reality
Dictated that your world of pretend would die in your scarred arms and hands.

Copyright © J. Amorose | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sestina |
I found a note on my windshield
Telling me I need to stop
Popping pills every single day
Little do they know
I can’t survive without those pills
Do they want me to be depressed?

I remember how each day I was depressed
How I just wanted to bash my head through my windshield
I’d have to tell myself to stop
And survive the agony every single day
As if they could ever know
What it’s like without the pills

You tell yourself you don’t need the pills
All the time you just want to stop 
But there you are still depressed
It’s like looking through a rainy windshield
How would you ever know?
The ways I didn’t feel every single day

And there you are every single day
Laying in bed depressed
Like they’d ever know
What it’s like to look through the windshield
So I go and take the pills
And you want me to stop?

I wish I could stop
Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want the pills?
I hate that I rely on them every single day
But I don’t want to go back to being depressed
I wish I could let you know
What it’s like to be trapped behind a windshield

What it looks like behind the windshield?
Everyone thinks they know
They look through one every single day
But they never actually stop
And realize that they don’t need pills
To keep themselves from being depressed

So please stop putting notes about pills
On my windshield every single day
Like you know what it’s like to be depressed

Copyright © Rachel Mills | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sestina |
As I walk past, somebody
tries to scream, “Save
Me!” My heart beats faster. Me,
myself, and I
like we are the ones. Am 
I scared? 

Yes. More scared
Than the somebody
In the alleyway. Am
I walking faster? Yes. Trying to save 
myself for I 
don’t know what is in store for me.

What is going to happen to me?
For if I’m too scared
To move on, am I
too dumb to ask somebody
To help me save 
myself? I am.

Sometimes I am 
too busy to care for me.
I am too confused to save
myself. Too scared 
to stop myself for somebody
may not see that I

need them and I 
may be stuck and am 
very cold and lonely that not even somebody 
With a blanket and a puppy can warm me.
The life I lead, how scared I
may be, is too much for somebody to save
me. To save 
myself is too hard for I
am too scared
To ask for help. How am
I so stupid? Too scared to save me.
I just need somebody.

Somebody save me.
I am scared.

Copyright © Brianna Hollister | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sestina |
Once upon a time, mother was gifted new life.
Reformed, reborn the second child to poverty, 
through the coldness of a Maine winter came beauty.
A fair Eve to her brothers Adam construction
her bloom was destined for a fresh spring being
and her eventual undoing awaits at death.

And, so she was born from the stark darkness of death
and raised on the undone leavings of old life.
Grandma brought bright sunlight with all of her being.
Granddad culled the forest deer to dress their poverty.
A thin walled lake cabin, a homes base construction
housed a family full of fine children’s beauty.

Field and forest with flower and tree were her beauty.
The doe, the buck, the rabbit bought life from their death.
The harshness of this life brought forth angry constructions,
razor strap beatings on small white behinds laced their lives.
Fishing, gardening canning and sewing relieved poverty
In time love came for her dancing into being

The Big One WWII brought my Dad to being
Auburn hair and chocolate eyed was Mom’s beauty
Her handmade clothes sewn with the art poverty
The war had brought them all too close to death
Lovers grasp at the gift they’re given, gifted life
and a new family of country and city was constructed.

Fifty years more , she was given, in this soul construction
tearful years of longing for a different being
with little joy at home, the family of this life
denying the world outside the walls the beauty
not even accepting the end of pain her death
Her gift to me, knowledge, I live not in poverty.

Mom died on a cold wet January day in poverty.
Her poverty was of money and not of love’s construction
at her tidy bed sitting with her hand in mine she died.
“Oh, I wish it were so, and then not, with all my being”
Not all of her treasures gone, for her children’s beauty
remains, their love had not left her throughout her life.

Though in reality Mom lived a short time in poverty being
but the construction of even that poorest plight was always beautiful.
And what is death really once through the pain but rich new life.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
Prices rising:  the reality of this plunging economy,
thriftiness and frugality are greatly demanded
in order to survive, and having less to spend
is a deterrent to those once-easily-obtainable luxuries;
I have become very frugal, to buy more for less,
and waste of food is not allowed to incur scarcity...

I squandered my money on items laying in unopened boxes,
never displayed:  I could have saved those dollars,
and not put on a grim outlook as dispirited as this;
so embittered and hard-to-get-used-to, and yet hopeful that
the New York's Stock Market will improve, by the bell's sound,
bringing stability to the Nation and the optimist's mind... 

The extended warranty on my Honda has run out,
and repairs must wait...back on jammed buses and trains,
standing up and putting up with noisy and naughty kids;
my savings account is running dry and worries amount,
repression or recession are bad news for an honest working man:
no planned vacations, and no expensive gifts for that matter...

Here, in the United States, Mega Millions and Lotto promise to make people millionaires,
but every winner has deprived himself of many needed things
before striking it rich, and with tons of money:  how will one handle it wisely?
For now, this fate remains unchanged...following the same routine:
getting up and going to work, just being normal and making ends meet;
being thankful to have a job to ease up this grim outlook:  not awfully dull and daffy...

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
My temptation is great at times in my life.
At other times, it is lost and no to be found.
I know it will always be there within my mind.
It will confuse me and drive me so very mad.
No longer sad, because I have accepted it so,
As a part of my soul and inner self so bold,

Becoming part of me, I am outwardly bold.
I have accepted so richly, building on my life.
No one I know would ever consider it so.
There are so many others that I have found.
Some accept it; others would think I’m mad.
I hold it dear to me, hiding it inside my mind.

I am glad that no one could ever read my mind.
Though to act upon this temptation is bold,
To observe this thing would make someone mad.
So I hide it well inside and continue in life.
Some day my time will come, peace will be found.
No matter when, I understand that it will become so,

Maybe upon my destiny deal it shall become so.
It will never drive me insane and take away my mind.
Reality will take over someday releasing vision found.
Energy shall be released, no sacrifice to be bold.
There will be a new existence known inside of life.
My spirit will be complete and happy, not mad.

This success shall be gracious, not making anyone mad.
I hope that my happiness fulfilled with making it so.
However, possibly not since I will not know of this life.
For all memories of former life will be out of my mind.
To be able to recall my past, could I chance to be so bold?
Possibly souls are warped together and can be found.

Per chance, I could read these words, knowing what I found.
Though it is a possibility, that then I could go insanely mad.
Whatever happens in my soul again, could I be so bold.
I can only hope and pray that someday it will become so.
That the temptation of mine shall share only one mind,
That the combination of two, share just one life,

That truth is found with loving it so.
No longer, mad, in a calmer mind.
Creating someone bold, and compelling life.

Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
Abundant rains pelt
on the window's foggy glass
with a rhythm too sad;
mist, raindrops and dreariness
deepen my nostalgic mood:
when sunshine was felt at noon....

The orchard's petals 
adorn the small cupid's head
over the fountain:
an oasis for robins;
today, they don't warble,
but sip water from their well...

From this window-sill,
daisies, dangling from their vase,
struggle on their stems  
only to commiserate, 
with their sympathetic glance,  
my nostalgic mood of brighter days...

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

I hide behind a  crooked smile.
Many times I would rather cry.
I feel as if I have no friends.
Ignored by my family.
Trampled on by those I most Love.
My life filled with Pain.

My life filled with Pain.
So long since I wore a smile.
I pretend I don't love.
I try hard not to cry.
Where are my Family?
Do I have any friends?

I used to have friends.
My life filled with Pain.
I need my Family.
I fake a lonely smile.
I refuse to Cry!
I am searching for love.

Do you seek someone to Love?
Do you search for friends?
Are those tears that you cry?
My life filled with pain.
I would like to see you smile.
Don't you have a family?

We can't always count on Family.
Some don't know how to Love.
They don't notice that you don't smile.
It's hard to count on Friends.
My life filled with  Pain.
They might notice if you cry.

So many times, alone I cry!
I hide it from my loving Family.
My life filled with pain.
I shower them with Love.
I hide it from my friends.
I show them all my crooked smile.

I cry silently for their Love.
My busy family and friends.
My Pain hidden behind my smile.

Copyright © Patricia Sawyer | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sestina |

O ,wherefore thou ,is thy Sestina Angelina?
she is not here ., thy love thy dove
thou angel eyes hover...oft high above
Tis thyself, a gentleman who doth wait
whilst  me dreams and longs to view her gracious gait 
I shall dwell ,tarry here in the dark
I must appeal to the day ; canst read her sonnets by dark
But , Joy ! Can hear the bells of her Villanelles.. me Angelina
Me beauty uses classical , graceful words that match her giddy gait
                          Me elegant ,enchanting dove
                           I shall remain, I shall wait

        For thou, Sestina thy Angelina sent from above                 
 I pace the earth with a weary  gait            
 Me mind wanders ; travels to heights above               
 longing for me heart,  me dove              
 whilst  me dwells,tarries, here in the dark                      
 imagining thyself  with Angelina                   
Thy Sestina , as  I , here , wait                     

                I cry, here, in the dark
                   float in thy head above
         O where, O where, is thy  turtle-dove?
                     Is she, too ,in the dark ,
                  Me angel face, Angelina ?
                     Shall I further wait?              
                I growest more weary to wait
                anticipation marks thy gait
       Still, no sign from me Sestina,Angelina!
                    I will pray to God above,
            on my knees, here, in the dark
         whilst I await the return of thy dove.    

        Alas! Hark, do I hear me dainte dove?
      Shall I run to greet her,or patiently , here, wait ?
               Shall I continue in this dark ?
  Where is she? Didst me not hear the crick of the gait?
Special Notice: Angelina not recorded here nor above!
 O , me , O me , O why, me Sestina Angelina ?!!   

O ,wherefore thou is thy Sestina Angelina; she is not here .,thy love thy dove
thou angel eyes hover...oft high above; Tis thyself, a gentleman who doth wait
whilst  me dreams and longs to view her gracious gait; I shall dweel here in the 
dark .                                                                                   

                                               Copyright McCuen 2008 

Copyright © MC MC | Year Posted 2008