Some of the foulest things Were conceived In the most beautiful Of places The pure alpine breeze Cooled the mechanics Of the elimination Of races Verdant green The backdrop For reeducation Stark Mother Russia The denouncements The Cossackification White Plains Trinity The United Nations.
One petal left— But the rose doesn’t cry. On petal left— Yet the rose still try’s. One petal left— But color still radiates. Hope is what powers, The rose, No matter the fate.
One breath, At a time. One memory, At a time. One word, At a time. That all I need— To keep going. I just need to try, For one at a time. Till I can love myself, Not leaving myself behind.