Roses spread
Outpouring of love
the meaning of my existence
Just for you who died
Hate is a cage, love is a torture tool, and she is her own jailor and death row
Ten years of dormancy, one night of trial.
When the scythe of revenge swung at the last person, her name was engraved on the handle.
A brutal poem about trauma, division and self-reconciliation.
Motto: Seeing may not be believing
