After all this years,
I can't think about it.
I feared you the most,
I hated you for being that monster.
Most of all,
I hated myself.
For being this vulnerable,
this inconspicuous and quiet.
I was this thing,
invisible,
blurry.
After all this years,
I can't feel you anymore.
What you left,
was hate for me.
The hate which keeps growing,
like a beautiful flower.
But
I'm not a flower,
I never was.
I was the thorn,
and I will come to slit you throat.
One day.
