Photoed not synthesised

He stood unsure in her garden
A piece of litter among beauty
The scent of flowers made him hate himself more, built up sorrow–mortified to the core…Such an innocent thing, fragile–when bones decay to rust. Their hearts like petals in the grip of a powerful gust. Apologies aren’t fertilisers my friends, they don’t bring forth beauty, regrettably only shame. Though unsure he knew what was to blame. To him she was pristine– to her he was a dream. Now a bitter stream more or less so was the inkling. Yes, apologies aren’t fertilisers they don’t bring forth beauty they’re only for regret…And beauty fell apart once his cancer began to spread…

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