Do I hear them sob inconsolably as they bury themselves in the abyss of my privilege? Or am I too busy to appreciate the prepossessing abstraction of my existence? It’s flabbergasting how alluring the art is and how much the society despises the artist.
They teach us to hate and kill, and here we are building castles of bone and flesh. Someone has to inaugurate the graveyard, for where do souls like you and me go after sparking a bloodbath?
The color of your skin glistens under the morning sun, reminding me of heaven with honey-smeared walls. Yet those audacious voices ask me to disapprove your raw beauty, for we have to be blinded with burrowed judgment.
I wonder how long will it take for the curtain to fall. I am tired of pretending to be sorry for the world, that’s all. I see faces and forget their stories. I touch them and cringe when they touch me back, and I show up with quivering compassion and happily watch them starve.
They told me you’d burn in hell for loving who you love, and I let them manipulate the school of my beliefs and crush my morals. Where do I hide when a wailing child knocks on my door? Will someone elaborate what these unjust biases are for?
We still have time; we could paint the sky pink. Let every human breath and allow them to think. For here we are ripping every head off that dares not to bow, consumed by our fragile egos; we go burning the streets now, we were born to be kind, and someday we will know just how.
One day I will hear them over my vague pretense. I would have the right words to make amends. I will be human enough to respect the artist. It’s the bare minimum, that’s what it is.

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