Bud.

I, You, Them,
They.
What are we?
My hands feel the prick of a thorn
So do They.
I bleed a red of roses
So do They.
The skin blushes in pink
Their skin does the same.
I die withering in wait
They wither the same.
I am a bud
Ready to bloom
Ready to let you see
Ready to be awake and free.
The drops of dew
Awaken me.
But, They cut me.
They nip it at the bud
My freedom.
How can this be?
They were once my buds you see.
Now…
Its They and Me.

13567150_10207392166538720_123854720670334174_n.jpg

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