All he thinks of himself is what an awful monster he is.  He believes that he does not deserve flowers as they will only wilt as his touch.         I am like the weeds on the ground, the dead trees and the fallen leaves.  I am unbearable.      Yeah, he has been poisoned by his own thoughts.  

You call yourself ugly. You flinch away from happiness. Who would love a monster like me? For I am as ugly on the outside as in. He is as fragile as an anemone, the beautiful wind – flower. It's petals are thin and can easily crumble by hatred. Its light and pleasant smell can waft through the forest by the winds of spring and its tough roots extend underneath the surface of the soil elegantly.