Deep in the womb of my cruelest intentions
budded a flower of flesh.
The hatred I bore through an internal war
made true the lore of its rest.
Every flick of my heart
further nourished the seed.
With assumptions, it grew as a twin.
She engraved violet thoughts in the walls of my chest,
Her fingernails grading my skin.
I can feel her at night as she travels inside.
Like a burning; an itch I can't cure.
She'll disguise herself dear
So she knows of your fear.
Your intentions of hate she'll secure.