Wound of a Volunteer
The quiet truth hides beneath the wound. We handed it all over our hunger, our hesitation, our heritage. The glow forced our hands to lose grip on the raw that made us real. The offer we wanted, the burden we bargained, the upgrade we accepted, the tragedy we paid for. This is not the wound of a victim— but of a volunteer.
©Samia Oldman
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CONTEXT
You are reading dystopian fantasy poetry collection the Hush Halo. After the Great Optimization a privileged group of people wired themselves tightly into the system by aligning with it and fully integrating. Systoics believe they’ve perfected themselves by stripping away everything that slows them down.
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