To keep the crash
that manifests
behind the broken glass.
To shape the clay
that folds grotesque
into your daily mask.
To wear your pride
in cold hard steal
an armor made for shame.
To take the sword
forged by your hands
use it to slay the blame.
Now do not run.
Now do not fight.
Crawl back in your cave.
It gave you once,
it gave you life,
and all you gave was shame.
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