what is beautiful also dies but is recycled for reuse in another passing fantasy.
can’t breathe past these unfurled petals. choking on nothing and everything. something is swallowing me from the inside out.
No longer alone, my scars bloom.
when your insecuritiesgrow too loud,and your criticssnarl and yell(more than usual),remember a rosehas sharp thornsin its side,yet it still blooms(in green-fingered spring)with the beauty and graceof a powerful queen