When violence is the only language you know, every situation becomes a battle. Even those fleeting moments of tenderness are experienced as a destructive act. Ripping out the petals of a flower one by one feels so satisfying, doesn't it? It's like they were specifically designed for that very purpose. But what else is there to do when all the petals are gone? They can't grow back. Crush the pistil. Break the stem. Throw it away. It's just a flower. There are plenty more of them.