Which is worse? Being picked or picked...
picked and dumped make a vase smell of spring...
days are numbered before, the stem grow all yellowish brown...
the warm becomes the brittle..
threatening to tear....
at the slightest touch...
I could not bear something pure... that is rotten...
as rotten as the dead leaves on the stem....
the cool air blew... the horror of smelling a delightful smell..
which in fact is mere poison...
what is there to the petal...
as white as it seems, as dangerous as it smells..
and yet it pleaded innocence...
such insolence....
1 comment:
wahhh... mr bong! since when you visited my blog? @@ thought u are always lost in your own anime world there.
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