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now who put the poison pen in this maniac's paw, giving him permission to spread his bile, treating others with contempt and fear?
whose blessing gave him a feeling of ease, ensuring a golden wreath of appreciation, placing him above the poor strugglers?
why let the way he sees things rule, enthroning his humanity in a bubble, preventing any real contact from occurring?
how am i so convinced he's not me, buffing my nails until they gleam, filing the points to penetrate his ego?
when compassion costs more than hatred, cheapening interactions into sound bites; when the way i appear is taken as real, allowing masks to replace hearts; when a teacher owns a seaside fortress, fencing himself away from the lepers... 
who says that nothing is sacrosanct; whose life entitles him to more; why bother to click on "reject"; 
how long can i hold onto my disgust, when it tastes just like my own mouth?