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Sep 2018
a rose lie on it's side

upon the windowsill.

out of water, and into

it's blood.

with every drink, profuse

transparencies made rich

splintering sounds.

sending a beast of burden

to the floor...mercilessly caught

in it's head.

thrashing around in an appeal

to have it picked out.
Onoma
Written by
Onoma  (N)ow(Y)ou(C)an
((N)ow(Y)ou(C)an)   
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