She came to me hoping to find an answer,
and then went out the door without a clue,
is this the same fear that kills your demise,
or the same void that completes you?
Rescue efforts to save souls lost in grace,
carry themselves towards the night and die,
where the truth hopes for a lie to get thrown,
and the false pretense asks you slowly, “why?”.
And then you can tell them and slither in peace,
where the park slowly ends, the green begins,
and the garden that was your ultimate savior,
bows down, burns into ashes, and silence wins.