You warned me we’re all made of glass,
That our lives are far too thin.
So why did I not believe you,
‘Til it was your shards in my skin?
Now these scars upon my fingers
Run too deep to just forget,
Despite the wilted roses
From the first time that we met.
And I don’t know why I told you
I was good at letting go,
For all I do now is watch dead flowers
...
And pray somehow they will grow.
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