Bleeding Rose Part Two
I remember when I was younger,
I found a bleeding rose.
It smelt of death and was blacker than night.
It was my bleeding rose.
I found it just lying there.
It was so exposed.
I picked it up and saw it bleed.
It is my bleeding rose.
Smiling, I took it home.
And there it still grows.
Forever it will be mine.
It is my bleeding rose.
Gradually, it is healing.
It has conquered its foes.
Happily, it stopped bleeding.
Now it is just my rose
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