Peace be what keeps you dead.
Beneath these roots is a land of bone.
Desolate, lost, and never known.
Blossom buried herself in search for earth and church.
A place called heavenly home.
Sweet innocent flower, dont you know?
You're dead to them.
You're dead to thee.
You've been dead for about a century.
You killed yourself that night you thought it be better if you bloomed alone.
What did you think would happen in alley of the shadow of death?
You feared it. You wanted it.
You let it rip you too pieces and now your soul is scattered across the graveyard.
Rest now.
Chaos be what kept you searching.
Pain be what left you dead.
Peace be what keeps you dead.
My beautiful little flower.