a dead flower

petals

once

pink

burnt

on

its

edges

it

decays

but

you keep

it

around

carry it

with you

stinks

of rot

you fold

it

put it

in

your pocket

with

memories

of

baseball

caps

dresses

that flow

ballet

slippers

and

all that

has

gone away

it is just

petals now

with rot

in its

center

no thorns

left

to make

you bleed

just a circle

of decay

and rot.

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