greeted the pink carriage of mediocre,
with her brought along the soul of a man,
such a man that she left in flounder,
chaining him like a dying rose in the summer,
she fed him with false hope,
made him a man of forgotten,
her pride was higher than a golden rope,
inside her lied a heart she left rotten,
a man whom she dump,
becoming more wary,
as he led his way,
out of the garden of misery.
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