futility_of_innocence Death of a Rose wrapped in layers so thick in areas and yet exposed glaringly so in others. taking the end of love as just another sign, gathering homes like matchbooks, let your beauty rot in self disgrace, peering through the rusted keyhole. spin another year past your head, tenderly cupping her face in your hands, giving up everything to not know, raising another tempest underneath your feet. 050818 what's it to you? who go blather from