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End

The rose is delicate.
Fragile, like crowding mist.
The blankets of the flower, dying slowly.
I want to conceal the illusion.
Let its sweet life, flow.
Time is stealing its beauty.
My soul dancing in the wind.
Thorns dyed red with poisoned blood.
Twisting screams, it begins to fall.

sarkophagus

@sarkophagus

29, Into horror themed writing, love dark poetry. Intelligence is definitely a plus, I would love to read your stuff.

28
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