Words Dust

Thorns and Roses

She was so delicate

So breakable,

That words can tear her to pieces.

Yet she was so beautiful

So aesthetic,

As a blooming rose

That everyone wanted to pluck.

They enjoyed her fragrance

her pretty colors and looks,

But when it came to watering her

Nobody would.

She was countlessly bent

And repeatedly broken,

So her colors started to fade

And she grew sharp thorns.

Anyone who comes near her

Would have to suffer

And she, unaware

Thought the thorns her strength.

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