Welcome to Fata Morgana, Where everything is not what it seems.
They didn't claim us. Instead they kept looking at us, their eyes were knives. They didn't need to speak. Their respiration spoke with their eyes. Too Talkative. They disowned us. Maybe there was a shallow depth of perception to be recognized. Though, who did it belong to? We were the rejected; Children beneath a cathedral's blood. And the ashes of cigars and the wax of candles built our sight. Rejection for the sole reason of not accepting.