You made my agile roses
to agonizingly bleed;
tempting the devil to
claw my petals again.
In my defense,
I lost all of my scripted lines,
nothing of or in me
left to say;
remains that's my
painfully awake dull
almond eyes -
those behold the stories
in which I played
and survived.
And in end,
I lost all,
holding just a thin pieced
thread,
that too threatening to leave my side.
Staring at all and nothing together,
my torn soul hurts so much
to the thought of rewriting again
something so fragile.
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