The blood of my clan drips from the knife
The initiation done
A rite with no moral compass
A freedom built upon the art of social persuasion and inclusion
A tear forms on my cheek
In one tear drop, my hope can be seen, my fantasies and dreams.
My future lovers and lies. My sins and my victories, my individuality. My face. My life.
The blood on the knife replaced the contents of that tear that fell from my eye
A great sacrifice.
A fool’s mistake, for they decide.