Every time you've cut yourself open
Was it a choice or the only
Hoping blood could be the analgesic
The voices in your head stabbed in their guts to a short-lived silence
Every time you've prayed for death
And hoped this time around your prayers would be answered
Were you your own victim
Or a consequence of the habitual failure of a consistently failing system busy judging you while pretending to be your ecosystem, called society
In a world of Frankenstein's monsters, masterpieces are but mirages
Calling victims of a well-planned genocide of everyone who didn't fit your boxes an escapist is arrogant, phrasing murder a suicide, an abomination
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