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| Blackrose My face burns like acid. My tears fall like rain. The tone of my voice is glazed with pain. My hands are all bloody. My hearts full of shame. The only thought in my head it that of blame. I'm but a black rose, In a winter field. People want to gaze, but will not yield. My petals are falling. My shaft starts to wilt. Passersby pass quickly, never to feel guilt |
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| By: Elsa Larson |