Biography of Foy Mark

I am a person that writes his darkness away and hopes his depression follows with it. The words I speak and the words I write are personifications of my soul, words that thrum and hum with so much intensity it pleads to be free.
And I let it loose, only on a long leash, because for me there is no greater pain than holding in words you wish to express.
Look into my eyes and you will find a kindred spirit and a suffering addict bleeding the ink he can not help but store in his heart.

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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Melville And Coghill - The Place Of The Little Hand
 by Andrew Lang

DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.

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