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Botanical Ruins
The world hangs us up by our wrists,
And shoots us full of bullets packed with words instead of led,
Although you would not know because they hurt just the same.
And despite all this hostility and image obsession
People still discover reasons to love.
But not you.
You treated me as if you are a wildfire and I am a fading match
Flickering in my last moments and paling in comparison to your power.
You treated me as if you are a rushing river and I am just a trickling stream.
You treated me as if you are a well loved novel and I am just a manuscript
Stuck on the desk of some lowly publication company that will never care about me.
You wore your ticking gold watches and shiny plated earrings and used them as trophies and medals
Which you traded in to climb higher on the ladder no matter who's fingers you crushed on the way up.
You ignored the screams and cries of people tied to train tracks by loosely knotted rope,
Because you were too busy going places.
You made me feel like every tear that rushed out of my eye weighed more than gold and burned like acid.
You made me question if you, or any one else for that matter was ever even my soldier,
Or if I was just receiving miscommunications at every up and down on the battle field.
And worst of all, you made me believe that I was just a cemetery,
And you deserved flourishing gardens, when in fact
I was botanical and you were just the gravel that held me in place.
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