May 25, 2009
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There are supposed to be butterflies
In your stomach, little bright bursts
Of all the colors of the rainbow
All the colors you can dream

And roses, that smell so sweet
The same deep, dark red
Of the blood pumping too quickly
Through your near-to-bursting heart

Delirious rapture

Fills your mind
Overtakes your senses
No room for reality
Seeps into your lungs
Intoxicates the air

Blissfully unaware

You're dying
Break through the barriers of fantasy
Know what the hope in your heart cannot accept
Let yourself fall victim
To the very end

When all that's left
Are the thorns of a long-wilted rose
And lifeless, faded

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