We come into your territory and we are prolific. We spread our genes wide. We have been designed this way. We did not choose to be who we are, but now that we are, we are proud. We stand tall, taller even than the oppressed refugees you have chosen to live in your land. You may cut them to keep them from over taking you but you fear us so you destroy us.
Oh to be accepted as part of your great land. Your yard.
Looking out from within his chamber, the grown man feels like an infant. The walls stark, the light starker, his mind is blurred by the systematic removal of his personality. Three a day, red ones. He has not even been told their effects. His only saving grace a beautiful woman, or at least a picture of her, hangs on the wall. Not by a sharp nail unfortunately but merely affixed with his own chemical sweat.