A stab in the back.

Pain turns to hate. And hate will consume you.

The first stab in your back,

Is much more then a surface wound.

Your flower of love is now left in ruin,

And a weed of pain begins to bloom.

It stems to your mind, the once open mind of clear blue skies,

Is now gray and clouded, you're raining inside.

But little do you realize, the very destructive raindrops that you cry,

Is nourishing your bloom of pain.

It's flourishing from the raining thoughts inside your brain.

This weed bursts open, and pollinates hate.

Pollen of hate is hard to keep tamed.

You struggle to even stay sane.

Your rainclouds of sorrow are growing darker,

A storm has rolled in.

Striking lightening,

Bright lightening of revenge.

Don't let this storm continue,

It'll only worsen.

And worsen you as a person.

It'll keep your weed well fed,

The very weed that should be dead.

It's infecting,

It's infesting,

It's now nesting in your dreams.

You can't even sleep.

You now know, the best thing you could've done,

Is to have let the sun rise in your mind, and shine in your soul.

Letting it wither this weed that wanted to grow.

Bandaged your stab before it ran you mad.

And mended the dying roots of your loving flower,

Before this wicked weed consumed and devoured.

Amidst the hurt and betrayal, you still have the power.

You have the control inside,

Over what grows and what dies.

So clear your storm, and strangle your weed.

Set yourself free from this painful and hateful misery.

You now won't allow a single knife to destroy your structure.

The next attack won't even puncture....

Your repaired, rebuilt, and thickened heart's roots.

The next stab in your back, will be nothing more then a simple surface wound.

The End

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