No more pretentious roses,
Those prick me,
Make me bleed dry.
Their fragrance,
which asphyxiated me,
Instead wild ivy
bloomed in my heart,
In place of them,
Lucious and wild,
Enticing none,
For I don't crave,
For your mere attention.
My soul is finally free,
Scattered in the wind,
I fill the gaps and
grow in between the
cracks and brokenness,
filling the empty spaces
within your bare soul.
-Nisha
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