Sweet revenge grows harsh, palm to palm, face to face, I will stab you wildly, madness grown in a field of prickly roses, I will cut little stars in you, pull out your organs and eat them like a naked savage, I will be like how you see me now. Your devourer, such a mad marriage never was before, your innocent flower that grows angry and that has a speaking serpent hiding under the stalks of grass near the fallen birch tree where you shall rest when I am finished, tears will not brew, I am nothing but cunning.
