The Rose

The Rose The Rose by Krystal Sedlak I look in the rose and see its footling petals. They fall to the ground indue care tiny ashes of the adore that was burned when I refused to open up our love. The rose grows with apathy, non because it grows, but because it is slowly disintegration extraneous like the mush on a all in(p) corpse. The ashen porcelain vase shatters due to the force per unit area of tears that have smooth in it. An avalanche has collapsed on top. The rose freezes and ceases to live.

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