...if my heart could beat...

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First Love Reincarnated


The rose that I picked stood out from the rest

A contrast of velvet petals and thorns

A bud far too delicate to be pressed

But whose brilliant color awes and warns

Against keeping its beauty to yourself

For this flower feels it is meant to shared

And of course, I, being my naive self

Reached out and picked the flower, unprepared

For the sharp pain and anguish to follow

I bled a red, as dark as the flower

With no intention to sulk and wallow

I sought another stem, not so dour

                But even the carnation held a quill

                And now I bleed again--I always will.



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