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The rose I held so closely,
Has wilted and turned dry.
I stood there watching,
As the petals fell,
One by one onto
the ground beneath my feet.
I close my eyes,
Envisioning the beauty that once was.
When I open them,
The petals are gone,
From hence they had fallen.
The rose was once again,
Complete and beautiful,
As the thorns pricked my flesh.
I gazed at the blood upon the stem,
And wondered silently,
If I had a moment of madness,
Or was this madness my reality.