A cold, hard world waits outside,
Unsympathetic to my fears.
To strive and fail might hurt my pride.
A stinging, scarlet trace appears.
A treadmill full of worker drones
Mocks the hope of having dreams.
Why bother even leaving home?
The crimson bloom swells to a stream.
A loveless life, a lonely heart,
A mirrored image I abhor,
Miscast for life's sweetest parts.
A sticky droplet hits the floor.
A tribute offered to despair,
A sacrifice to greater ills.
Give in to everything unfair
With every slice, and blood that spills.
Withdrawn, the hand that could repair
Injustices that run so rife.
My body is a temple where
I turn upon myself, the knife.
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