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i was your rose

so you spray painted her red.

and she wore that elegance

with pride. but it was a

masquerade. glossed paint

made her shiny and new.

lack of water ripped at my petals,

as they fell to their demise.

now her red paint faded

to a darkened shade of gray.

blackened soul.

not even my damaged petals

turn that dark.

you let me go, for dirt,

when i was your rose.

now, all the petals fell

and i’m gone.

you’re left

painting her red.

what life is that?

controlled breathing.

better off dead.

(she’s no rose)

-Allison Ryder