My love for you is like a wilted rose,
once it stood tall and proud,
now it no longer grows,
hidden from the sun by your dark shroud.
That girl is dead.
No longer me.
No more tears will be shed,
for the girl who will no longer be.
A new girl stands tall and proud,
she throws off your smothering shroud.
In her life she holds the thread,
for in her new life you are dead.
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Submission Name: Thread
