Candy Baron
I want to exist only at night, when everything is calm.
1 min read

There are thorns in the garden. I try to focus on the lilacs and lavenders, but every now and then the thornbush creeps above the flowerbed. Dark, twisted, ugly thorns disrupting the landscape. Intruding on my solitude. They never seem to go away, no matter how many times I pull them out. The self-regenerating thorns disgust me, and they seem to feed off it; I suppose that's what gives them their power.

There are thorns in the garden. Sometimes I want to burn them, but then I'd set fire to the garden altogether. I worked hard for this garden, and I'll be damned if the thorns are going to take that from me. They like to pop up randomly, sometimes sprouting through another flower. They have no mind of their own, but they are ridiculously persistent.

There are thorns in the garden. I don't know what to do. I can't seem to make them go away. Lately they keep me awake. I've tried everything to get them out of my garden but nothing ever works for long. They seem immune to my efforts. Twisting, intangible, and persistent.

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