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Feb 4
in her clenched hand
she held a rose,
recently wilted

i saw its thorns
dug into her palm
like wire barbed


small and unassuming
gasping for breath
she had the heavy scent
of gasoline
each iris was a lit match
and she laid her gaze on me

let me be your fuel,
burn me down
and lament over the ashes
Written by
Man
359
   Rose
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