I’m just neurotically tapping my fingertips, squinting, cracking a smile—the kind twisted from disgust welling at my lips, breaking out, dressed in sarcasm. Even this so-called "sarcasm" is nothing more than false tears, tinged with a hint of pity.
God, I’ve never even pitied myself.
Fine then: I sympathize with you, I ache for you, I grieve your injustice.
Ah, slipping into self-loathing again. How pathetic. After all, the few obey the many. Should I blame others?
Then let this grave seal itself—bury it here.
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