The Garden
I walk through a garden of roses
Their thorns bare down on me
Asking, asking for me to stay
I hug myself tight
Wishing for the danger to disappear
I close my eyes, imagining myself in a different garden
A garden without thorns
Without the vicious red of roses
Without me
I open my eyes and for the first time see
The way orange tinges the tips of the petals
Beautiful
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