I hate my body. They’re born a monster.

I am alone. Their life’s in death camps.

I feel depressed. Their newborns are slain.

I don’t like life. They’re born for torture.

I hate my species. They hate us more.

I have big bills. They don’t own their bodies.

I can’t make friends. They watch theirs flayed.

I hate my voice. They lose theirs screaming.

I’m in bad shape. Their fat breaks legs.

I hate my home. Theirs is a slaughterhouse.

I hate this climate. They never see sunlight.

I hate getting up. Their downed are dragged.

I’m always cold. They freeze in afterbirth.

I feel unhealthy. They’ve tumors cut off.

I have no hobbies. They found insanity.

I’m no one’s favorite. They were picked first.

I’m not important. They’re burned a number.

I hate my face. Theirs is shorn off.

I have no talent. Their knack is terror.

I have no skills. They’ve mastered pain.

I can’t make food. They eat their dead.

I am replaceable. They’re grown as crop.

I’m unattractive. Their bodies rot.

I feel old. They’re butchered at birth.

I feel tired. They can’t sleep shrieking.

I feel hungry. Their throats are piped.

I am in pain. They’re skinned alive.

I don’t like strangers. Their few are murderers.

I’m new to things. They’re slaves at birth.

I am uncomfortable. They can’t kill themselves.

I am afraid. They fear waking up.