The stem of eVery rose has a thorn
It’s a wonder I’ve survived so many pricks
A renewed wOund heals slowly, if at all
An empty souL is really full of spent blossoms
Trusting is scAry business, if it can even be done
To be safe: a Thing both desired and extinct
Willing...imagIning my no meaning no. Plucked; undone
Fallen petals On overgrown grass is this
disappointmeNt in its many forms of bloom
Mind Wide Open
Lost in translation are the fragments of this beautiful life.
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