Dead is the flower,
once thorny and wild,
dead are the memories,
hidden by a child,
Hushed is the cry,
of dieing mournful deaths,
when will it be,
finally put to rest,
trying to keep alive,
the love we achieved,
for the lonliness,
I thrived,
and now,
that I finally have my peace,
and eternal rest,
I think the bloody knife you hold,
was a decision at best.
All (c)Copyrights reserved by the Original Author.
