She Went To A Garden Party

The red-hot Sun matched the sweet cherry wine
Sent smoothly, in thick layers, down her throat
At rapid rates, each drink was downed way too quickly
In her Life, when she’d consumed all too much poison,
She’d always hear about catastrophe in the morning
Her major drug of personal choice
Was any substance that buried her deeper
The anxiety she just couldn’t put a finger on
Made her a withered rose in the subconscious
Abandoned shovels hid in the mind, in the roots of the heart
She knew not if she was wicked or actually sweet and kind
Because the thorns were so inevitable and outspoken
In memories spotted with such a prickly existence,
Yet she also knew roses were proclaimed with natural beauty
Until the rose blossomed on her own,
She rode around in circles as the blackout drunk for Life’s garden party

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