The Garden we grew, that you burned

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Love

A magic potion

A poison 

What ever it's effect

I just want it to consume me

Come what may the result

Either I'm dying 

Or

Flowers blooming on my heart. 

And if the flowers bloom

We would be growing a garden

But 

I forgot

The flower withers 

The garden shivers

Then

The heart is on fire

mind a graveyard of left flowers

soul a burnt coal

But what hurts the most

Is to throw the burned remains

I once growed

In the love of flowers

I became the lover of thorns

Now 

Nothing left

Nor the flowers

Nor the thorns

Only me 

And my dried up soul. 





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