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Image for the poem your last rose

your last rose

 As I toss this rose
upon the burlap bag
blood soaked, oozing
I begin to fill the hole
and think...
"ten years of misery"
atlas peace, tranquility
just maybe, I could've
cut out her tongue instead...
silence truly is golden
content, pain
slowly dying
alone...
Written by BlackReign
Published
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