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Enter left, my stage is full of flowers. Unashamed dandelions blown about by the beat. Poppies appear, setting a daisy to flames. Hurt, it falls, twirling flames to my feet. Over time, heat draws blood from my leg. Red fire running circles, it gathers up speed. It burns from my flip-flops to the tip-top of my hair. And if you could bottle this, you'd be a fucking millionaire.