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outside, you are roses.
you are spring day,
a summer morning,
a flower in dewdrops
learning to blossom.

but you have hands made of thorns,
and you are grasping my heart with a clenched fist.
i am a half-alive bird caught
in the talons of a hawk,
feathers tearing from my bleeding skin
and splashing in the mud.

i keep scissors in my nightstand,
but you are a weed
that one must rip out at the root.

unfortunately,
my hands are ghosts
that were never too good
at grasping things in the first place.
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:iconmaryitis:
MaryItIs Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Well written!
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:iconfieryspark:
FierySpark Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you!! :iconhuggleplz:
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:iconmaryitis:
MaryItIs Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
very welcome :)
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:iconrosescarlet:
RoseScarlet Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2014  Student Writer
Damn metaphors. Amazing.
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:iconfieryspark:
FierySpark Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you so much! :love:
Reply
:iconrosescarlet:
RoseScarlet Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2014  Student Writer
:heart:
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Submitted on
March 17, 2014
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