A Prayer's Unwanted Answer

Without pity, without hesitation, I succumb to the nature of vendettas hidden in the vines and wings of intentions as subtle as ordnance. A nature scarring that grows from within, harboring fangs beneath petals and stems. Another mouth to feed for every trespass, another thorn to spread for every anguish. The shed of skin now porous, paper combs in guarded veins. The shed of skin segmented collapses with all inhibitions. My prayers are answered, forging weapons from my loathing. My prayers are answered in each hornet teeming from these wounds. Flight now given to every embittered animosity I hold. Flaying roots of contempt grip firmly in the soil of a heart enswarmed. My prayers are answered.