Stains

I see you trying to hide behind that man suit. You think I don’t notice? That fake man you wear is starting to rot away and peel back from the little animal underneath. How long are you going to try and hide in your own shadow? You’re no man. You’re no tough guy. You’re just a freak. Wash your hands Pilate! Wash them! It makes no difference. I see the stains on those hands. The reminders of your filth. Of the time spent in the dark. Stains of the blood of others. The ones who bleed for you. The ones who hurt for a false man. The ones who love a make believe, never was, phony. What a vile creature who would ask this of them but not have the courage to spill his own.
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