A needle hums, its bite inscribes,More than ink, it brands their lives.A sequence carved, devoid of name,A silent scream in numeric shame. The ink sinks deep, a cruel decree,A name erased—humanity’s plea.Flesh becomes a ledger’s page,Etched in despair, grief, and rage. Not a mark of pride but pain,A scar that whispers what remains.The calloused hand,

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