New World Martyr

Upon the streets I lay,
But I am not asleep,
I am the New World’s martyr,
A child who won’t survive,

The treachery of cruelty’s shame,
And the abusive hands of time,
Work themselves into my heart,
To change my blood to bile . . .
I grow not in physicality . . . But in hate,
In every awkward action and every misjudged slight,

They build me into the monster you fear . . .
They create a place for my chaos.

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