We are all flowers on the razor wire.
Some of us blossom and some of us don't-
We become roses made of titanium, whose
leaves are drops of new-shed blood
.

All of us, swaying in the wind
and the rain
and the snow.

One long vine made of thorns
and moonlight.

And those that don't bloom

eventually ice over and

f

a
l
l

and crack into a thousand tiny shards
that decay and feed the remaining rosebuds.

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