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The petals rains on me,
Smothering the blemishes on my skin.
An idyllic red bleeds to a crimson shade,
And my heart feels it once more,
Withered by my sentiments.
In the midst of reds and yellows,
Hands held out in a field of shadows.
Swirling in the echoes of a laughter,
Chasing for the scent of a rose.
They said a prayer would stop the pricking,
Should I choose to hold on to a rose.
To embrace a memory made of thorns,
To linger on the pathway of forlorn,
And enjoy the moment of my fall.
But, a piano starts to resound in the heart,
And a tone of darkness blends in with the lies.
Its taunting melody sings of him,
While his memory turned its back on me,
The withering rose starts to cry alone.
What’s left of me is lost in you,
But I can’t find you.
Copyright © Gaia Ong