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you sent me winter roses,
a bouquet of dying petals
and dried november leaves
i cut myself
on the thorns
i am bleeding violet
in a world of gray
thorns don’t hurt
the way words do,
and there is no sting
as sharp as the one delivered
by your riposte tongue
but i no longer crave
the sound of your blade,
the cruel cacophony it makes
i no longer need you
to fill the abandoned spaces,
to hide your sins
in the hollow
of my bones
i am no longer chained
to loss, toxicity and pain
all the ties that bind
are now severed strings
and you are just someone
i used to know

-ashley jane