Outsider Complex

Sometimes I would like to be a hero-
Clean-handed, showing up,
averting eyes while all the villains
fall on their own swords.

(After I stare morbidly
while my beloved bargaining chips cry.)

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What makes a monster?

Whether having hooves or claws?
Or the mere look in their eyes?

The story’s been told. Heroes know
what becomes of monsters.

Nobody wants to believe
that humans are monstrous.


When you sink your teeth into my soul,
my emotions
haunt me like ghosts-

Wounds alive,

to those who don’t believe
in magic,

on a loop,

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