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Withered

by Amy walcott

She spoke such pretty little lies
That hypnotized 
Oneself to bend at will
Slowly became to wilt
Like a rose without water
The beauty of red
Began to shed
Into a shattered brown
Cut down 
Till there was nothing left
But a dead rose
And it's thorns.

 

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Saturday 28th November 2020 8:01 pm

Broken   depressed   sad poems

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