She played in the flower garden
Where once she was forbid
But now observing eyes were averted
She pranced through pathways
And danced among the feverish lilies
That she did not care about the thorns
She felt the pains as she trampled the roses
Already scratches that emitted red
But she was too carefree to ponder then
What a few cuts could mean
She emerged eventually to the open grass
Feeling just fine and carefree
But the scratches told another story
Yet her eyes remained on the trees
From poems, to short stories, from rants to reviews, from shit to polish, this is the un-edited thought flowing blog so drink up, and be semi-entertained.
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