I’m the weed in this picture,
I want to conquer and overpower.
The flowers shriveled, the colors, monotone.
Kneel before me and cower.
Feel the oppression, the loss of hope.
Desperation maturing every hour.

No thrashing. No disrespect.
I’ll destroy your hope, I’m a malicious insect.
I’ll rob you of your will, your spirit and tact.
And your eyes will glaze, your smile a mere act.

Don’t anger me, I’ll bleed you dry.
This garden hides an evil butterfly.
I’m at a certain point, and want to inflict pain.
I want you to beseech and call my name.

Yes, the threshold. You’re there, that’s right.
Oh, the joys of a tormenting sight.
No warning, just a sting of my words,
that cut like blades, from a heart of stone.

Dare not speak to me because of this?
I will not sentence you, your conscience will.
I’m always right. You’ll always cherish.
I’m eternal, I’ll never perish.

Yes sweet one, another night together.
Aren’t you happy that this will be forever?
This garden of ours, plagued with our fire.
Our torment and for suffering, desire.

Speak to me with plead in your voice.
Tell me you love me and always will.
Adore me, pleasure me, and allow me to dominate.
Plead with me, beg me, apologize always.
Need me, accept me, ignore your heartbreak.

You’re surprised there are thorns in the garden?

u n r u l y

c o p y r i g h t © 1999 Wolverina.