She buried himself,
In the back garden,
With a tombstone of,
Lavender she is,
Allergic to it,
He turns away from herself.
Some amount of time further on.
The world begins anew on a quiet monday,
Gathering herself,
An arise,
Now,
One foot in front of the other,
The grave is empty,
Then an other foot in front of the first,
What was all her fuss about,
Now one foot in front of the other,
She begun to smile,
Then an other foot in front of the first,
Seemingly burying a piece of wood and cloth,
Now one foot in front of the other,
And erecting a flower of which she is alergic,
Then an other foot in front of the first,
has caused a swell of multiple emotions in her,
Now one foot in front of the other,
All of which coinsided with the end of the world,
Then an other foot in front of the first,
And the beginning of another.
Her dress catches the wind,
A wind she remembers,
She remembers it from,
The memories that are,
Kept in the hollow box,
The box below the bush,
Is it that she never died?
Her rebirth is storied.
999
did she ever?
like really did?
the façade?
was it all 4 nothing
She is-