His VoiceA Poem by John Alexander McFadyenI die.His Voice I am not to be revered. The blood that seeps from my veins is nothing. I am no icon. I am damaged, so very flawed and I preach from such a distorted soul that I am a leprotic to innocent ideology. My veins weep discordant blood. My thoughts are steeped in conjugated conjunctions. And I am dead, dead to all things of flesh and life.
25/02/17 © 2017 John Alexander McFadyenReviews
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7 Reviews Added on February 25, 2017 Last Updated on February 27, 2017 AuthorJohn Alexander McFadyenBrixworth, England, United KingdomAboutWell, have a long and complicated story and started it as an autobiography on Bebo but got writer's block/memory fogging. People liked it though and kept asking for the next chapter! fools.. more..Writing
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