Like a hand that presses down
on your chest and refuses to leave
and the fingers are tainted with poison
and thorns
yes, thorns that were concealed by roses
and fairies and dreams
and when the sun left
and it went to night
and you could only feel
you couldn't see anymore
then you felt for the first time
you felt the thorns against you
the poison seep in
the poison that had been disguised by pretty roses
and dainty smells
now poignantly, pointedly pushing you into
darkness.
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