These delicate flowers sprout from my skull and the vines cling to me,
Their sweet aroma seems pungent to me...they bloom into my death.
So gracefully do i apper to accept it, all smiles that hide the break
my confession is waiting to be heard, but i cant formulate the words...

But the bugs- they crawl the vines toward my skull, stinging and clawing its
almost unbearable
~but i must stay
i cant risk their knowlage.. their judgement

 
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