The Rose

The Rose The Rose by Krystal Sedlak I look in the rise and see its piffling petals. They fall to the ground delay tiny ashes of the love that was burnt-out when I refused to give up our love. The rose grows with apathy, not because it grows, entirely because it is slowly rotting by like the flesh on a dead corpse. The discolor porcelain vase shatters due to the pressure of tears that have collected in it. An avalanche has collapsed on top. The rose freezes and ceases to live.

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