Our love was like a rose,
as time passed the peddles fell.
one by one for each argument,
tear and lie.
Thorns became more sharp.
As the last peddle slowly detached itself,
We had ended.
Only a stem left,
discolored and fragile.
So now whoever touches will be prickled.
Cause I will never open up.
My thorns are to strong to give up again.
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