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ROLABU ðŸŽðŸŽ
@rolabu
Like a dying rose, I still seek the gardener's touch, My lies exposed, leaves burn beneath the torch. A sigh arose from a son abandoned by the sun, Hints of gold as pink petals kiss the soil. As the word "beautiful" grows old, Like thorny vines entwining my soul, In a marketplace of redemption, my rouge-red heart is sold.
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