By Lefcothea Maria Golgaki
Suppose you saw the truth,
would you still blame the lepers
for the gaping wounds in your body?
And if your sky was sullen,
would you yet reproach the flickering candle
for the shadow it casts?
So boundless is your rage
that smears your once fine skin
which now emanates the foul smell of self-deception.
Suppose you saw the truth
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