I don't want to be your virgin martyr on the cross, dripping blood and tears as you dance around in loincloths, clutching spears.
One day you will look at me and you will fear because you will realise that all this time, you didn't know a thing. One day you will look and you will see a stranger.
For now, I will masquerade under a mask of visibility, pretending to bleed in colours my soul does not possess.
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