| folded_words | ||
| Death of a Rose |
Your folded words, imprisoned in the sounds of night, covered in mistakes, a slow tip of the morning cup. a dying symbol of innocence, crumpled and tossed in the corner, a ridge left unviewed, slipping in the small things. hounded by your mind, a coursing of need and fear, left in only way you could see, getting ready for the impact of this moment. |
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| iron ORE | My mind does not allow for so much confusion when the most beautiful things go untouched, unnoticed and taken for granted. | 070822 |