Prickly thorns and a coffin full of roses
Who mourns in response to loneliness
Forgiveness is but divine
The fine outline is disconcerted into guilt
His will overwhelmed the culpability
And her mentality formed into empty solace
Fragrant memories from thy mind collapsed
She relapsed, and wreathes in sorrowful apathy
Pretty monotonous words eat her whole
Thy role is casted by a pretense
Hence for her, nothing is but what is not.