Easter Sunday, girls with pink dresses
Mine is too
Sharp like prom king
Cursed like a weapon
Like a stay-at-home widow
Practically insincere
My poetry on the internet
Not the best idea
Rereading old diary entries
Not really the best idea either
A strategic sort of landmine
Rose body oil
That blends in softly
Tell me what you want from me
Don’t forget to put away the flowers
Before they rot
Before they rot
Peonies on the tabletop
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