As the flower takes a last breathe
It slowly withers away to nothing,
Turning cold adn dead.
The last scream for help is said,
But no one ever tells.
Gray and black use to be red,
As I said,
The flower is dead,
No more last breathe's,
Nor any final words.
All who ssen this fair being
Is covered in its blood.
Tender petals fly away
Rotting with every last bitterness.
Into the darkness it goes
For enternal hatred to come,
Within the mold of the dead
And to never return from the bitter cold,
Again.
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