By Lauren Rivera

Tear ducts stimulated by my perpetual thoughts.

Like vines, it grows and spreads;

entangling itself between the deepest parts of the brain.

Joyful memories now tainted.

Piercing thorns creating open wounds.

I bleed red: the color of extremes.

As white roses blossom upon the vines, the red river stains it.

Pretty evanescent petals.

Yet the river still flows, soon to submerge everything in its path.

But for now, beautiful nothingness.

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