Dwell In Possibility
a collection of outbursts and rants
Monday, June 22, 2009
Pretty Trash
The flower 's
Color is felt
Against your finger
As the red liquid
Rolls down gracefully
Dripping onto the ground
Oh
Red, red Rose
Why do you tell me so?
Can I not enjoy you without pain?
You place the flower in the garbage
And throw her away.
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