It is but a flower
a flower of love
left on her pillow
with tender care
a gift i give
the deepest love
each rose with its thorns
i do not remove them
a rose without its thorns
is not as beautiful
keeping its purity
gorgeous red as her lips
thorns markin her faults
that is why i love
no matter the thorns
nor the rose
it means more
a bouque for her
11 red 1 black
i'll love her to death
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Diary of a madman
random things i've writtin or thoughts i've had
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