Lying in the corner of
your tiny decrepit balcony
catatonic to flutter
in a coarse mud pot
with frail thorns –
like the weary cactus plant
that doesn’t even desire water –
let me wilt
wither away –
silently, overlooked
even forgotten
but near, adjacent –
close to you.
Because
out here,
in this fiendish world
beautiful and useful
adored and caressed –
I am a fucking Rose!
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