5 minute read

Paradise

there waS once a garden of life where the desolAte ground is now stained from heaVy rose petals fallen and blown away by thE steady yet unforgiving wind. a grave sight holding wishes, past loves, Years unremembered, futures where now fOssils remain of what was once alive.  bUt is the blood from roses? a faint

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Here

I have one question, and one question only.  How the hell do I get down?  Six thousand, one hundred, and twenty one tally marks stare at me in the face as one more is chalked up for the day.  Here, I remain.  Here, I wait.  With the same eighteen story high view and the same

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