In Garbage Short lived lives what beauty recorded amounting to Nothing more than added pieces of a midden mound before becoming discarded trash foul smelling, molded and soggy Before it had an after life Demanding attention sprouting buds A guessing game of petals, he loves me he loves me not In crimson glory Blooming fully Splayed out in the sun Like a grave With dangerous spikes The roses of past Sent from my Galaxy
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