Who beat you?
Who broke you?
Did they shape you into this ruin of a person?
Were they reckless enough to hand you a voice?
As you dare to stand obstinate to the will of the world,
How did you manage to infect my day with your venom?
Has privilege soften you?
Or did you silently rot from the inside out?

You claim you're shattered,
That you're some relic of trauma
But the way you wield cruelty reveals the lie.
Your pain isn’t penance; it’s projection.
You speak fluent madness.
You manufacture grief
And parade it like some kind of twisted triumph.
You twist the words of the kind
Into scaffolding for your false self
A mask for the void where your soul should be.

Should I feel remorse?
Guilt? Regret?
I’d offer sympathy,
But there’s a chasm between empathy and letting someone
erase me
to validate the wreckage they’ve become.