People hate the thorn. The thorn cannot be good. It hurts, it cuts and it tricks. It hides among the beauty of the rose and yet. And yet. It is part of the rose. Without the thorn, the rose isn’t a rose. The rose does not exist.
People hate blood. The blood cannot be good. Blood means death, it means violence and it means suffering. It hides among the beauty of the flesh and yet. And yet. It is part of the flesh. Without the blood, the flesh ceases to exist. It cannot exist without the blood, pumping through the veins. Without blood, means death.
A final thing to consider. People hate me. I cannot be good. I mean sin, I mean temptation and I mean Hell. I hide among the beauty of the Earth and yet. And yet.