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Apr 2
Flowers bloom in my lungs, white like a frost-covered morning, their roots weave intricate walls around my heart, protecting it. But although they look pretty, I find I cannot breathe. The white suddenly seems more like a freshly cleaned gravestone, and the roots choke my heart in a cage lined with needlepoint thorns. The bright flowers once blooming in my lungs are now a wilted bouquet clutched in sweaty hands watered by salty tears.
Twisted Poet
Written by
Twisted Poet  16/F/New Zealand
(16/F/New Zealand)   
48
     guy scutellaro and Twisted Poet
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