Invasive

My glistening needles are not for decoration. They pierce insidiously without warning, and once inside, my barbs will hook onto your flesh like it was the cheek of an ignorant, juicy fish. If you are the least bit maladapted to my environment, I will cut you down. Negotiation is futile, as is laughter. I was not planted here for your pleasure, or theirs. Your territory is a thing of the past. You’d do best in a nice terracotta pot, or perhaps a large planter in the lobby of a fancy hotel and spa. But not here. Consider your soil mine.