他们说那是杂草——一种无意长出的情绪，自由地，野性的，
但我却看见它们在他人痛处上疯长。
裂开的，不是墙，而是目光背后的笑意——
那种拧成钩子的笑，从指缝里漏下，不声不响地扎进另一具身体。
你以为自己只是观看，
却不知屏幕另一端是皮肤、骨头、血的真实回响。
匿名遮住了你的脸，却放大了你眼中的冷意。
有人在废墟中咳嗽，你却把这咳嗽当成了烟火。
They called it a weed—an emotion that grew unintentionally, freely, wildly.
But I saw it thrive on the wounds of others.
What cracked wasn’t the wall, but the smile behind a glance—
the kind of smile twisted into a hook, slipping through fingers and silently piercing another body.
You thought you were just watching,
unaware that on the other side of the screen was the raw echo of skin, bones, and blood.
Anonymity hid your face, but magnified the chill in your gaze.
Someone coughed in the ruins, and you mistook that cough for fireworks.