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A Rose with Thorns

heart pumping,
adrenaline burning through my veins,
i cry myself to sleep,

for friends have become foes,
and i am in the center,
raging for control,

love on one side,
lust on the other,
they fight,
until a dawn may come where only one will remain, having prevailed over the other.

i feel sick,
sick of loss and of pain,
of love and gain,
and of myself.

i was beginning to forget why i remained a loner at my old school,
but time always catches up to you,
and you are reminded of what has passed,
and what is to come.

I remember.

it is as simple as i am meant to be alone.
i get along better with myself than anyone else.

the truth is i just don’t fit the pattern,
a rose with thorns in a garden of pruned violets.

it is easiest to be alone, because you can’t fight with yourself,
you can only observe,
record,
analyze,
and think over the plans the world has created and the thoughts others have dreamt.

You are an outsider looking in,
which is what i was always meant to be.

i don’t belong in society.
i don’t belong anywhere,
but in my own heart and mind.

but it’s too late to go back,
and too early to move forward.



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