The Serengeti flower
Grows in
boggy
Areas,
grows with
Little
hairs, that
Irritate
the skin.
The name was
One to be
Forgotten,
a nickname,
A fake
name,
A false
pretense.
The game was
Played with
no
Rules, a
lovely
War of
roses,
Bed of
thorns.
When the game
Concluded,
he was
A broken
soul,
Crying to
strangers,
Bleeding
regurgitated clichés.
The lone soul
Sleeps
alone, finds
Himself
alone, for
Years this
goes,
Searching
in darkness.
Until the lone
Soul finds
that
There is no
Loneliness
in contentment,
Alone not
alone.
When it all
Was
forgotten, wanting
Had ceased
and
He no
longer
Needed, he
found.
very inspiring n thought out i love the feel of this keep it up :)
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