The Rose

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As I trudge over the coarse, rough, narrow terrain
I try to dodge the spike-like, dangerous, sharp bruises
That I approach.

I see an overcastting shadow
When I raise my sweaty eyes to him.

I eye him carefully as I try my hardest to push past him.
He grabs my wrists
With his rough, calloused hands
But I break free from his grip.

His eyes turn red while he uses them to push me
Further and further down to the bruising hole.

Now I hear long nails scratching
On a chalkboard in my head
When silence envelopes the moon.

I close my eyes and breathe,
Standing to my full height.

A smile grows on my lips,
As my eyes gaze at his troubled face.

I reach up and hold his cheeks in my hands,
Kissing his forehead lightly,
Gently pulling away.

His essence lingers above me,
When it finally evaporates.





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