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One single wager and victor’s mask fell to her grace.
Black rose, wearing a crown of thorns.
Her scarlet gown brought a glow
That I believed to be my saviours mark.
Black rose, a prodigal loss.

Life became at once,
As muddy water
Slowly running
Through our fingers.

But if we could walk along,
Your hand in mine,
We would burn in Pascal’s fire
A beautiful demise.

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