For many artists and creators of worlds, Opuss is a realm of therapy,
Somewhere to safely exorcise demons and ponder on what could be.
There lies an innate responsibility with the power the words create,
Painting selfhate without a morale or sense of consequence could seal a reader's fate.
Sitting alone and bleeding in pain does not equate to an artist and his brush,
Crying in solitude and wincing in shame does not bring about a magical rush
For some glamourising it may lessen the guilt but I implore cutters to cut through the bullshit,
Paint the real picture in all its colours, layer the oils a little deeper, use your talent to explore your feelings and exit.
Instead of liking each others testimonies of torture, empower yourselves to move forward out of the mire,
Please do not encourage other children to join you, the blood turns to tears on that funeral pyre.
Do not take my words as an insult, they come from a scared father, remember no one on Opuss is ever alone,
At any time there will be someone out there to listen, instead of a razor, pick up a phone:
08001111 or 1-2-1 chat childline
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