My skin is soft and my mind unexperienced.
Like cotton right off the stem.
And when animosity hits it, I tend to be unprepared for such topics.

My body goes through constant cycles of supposed purification
Like the separation of the cotton from its seed and the bleaching of its fruit.
So when I realize my impurity, I tend to reject myself. For I feel that others would anyways.

My blood runs through my organs, and is altered in my heart
Like cotton being twisted to threads.
I crystalize like cane sugar as it drips off its heat made daggers, and I crush to dust under the weight of every decision that I make.