A Prick to Remember

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You bloomed me,
and loved me,
or so I believed.

Our roses went from red,
to the darkest of black,
Blooming to dead.

Pedals once attached,
now a blended detail,
to the frozen ground.

Your thorns once hidden,
slowly appeared,
to stab my weakening heart.

My stem stood tall,
but soon dropped,
through the storm,
of the night you stole my last pedal.

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