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Reflected Rose
Mirrors sit there idly,
forever enticing me.
From far beyond silvery abyss
comes a dare to look without distress.
It’s true, there once was beauty here
or so I always seem to hear.
But I cannot remember a time
these crimson petals still had their shine.
All that remains now is a short stem,
emerald with envy, hardly a gem.
My many thorns stay sharpened by hatred,
isolating me, never truly shed.
While these teary raindrops fall,
I realize that you will not call.
Drooping with death, so sick of the games.
A lack of sunlight must be to blame.
Oh how I loathe this reflection,
desperate for great affection.
But like a suffocating room,
the bell jar drops, becomes my tomb.
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