Picture Perfect
The thorns of this rose, Are stabbing my heart, The jewels off this crown, Are falling apart. It's beating with strain, It's wings beating in the air, The arrow goes straight through, And suddenly it tears. The crack down the middle, Is skinny and slender, This heart that cries, I guess is too tender. It wishes for freedom, But it's kept by this fire, Not giving off a single ray of hope, They will to live, is it's only desire. Written March 5th, 2002 © on Mar 05 2002 11:49 AM PST 18 • 0 • 8
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"The thorns of this rose,..."