Oh, how we choose around us, like we are the most perfect. How we flick our fingers at somebody’s soul. How we smile in delight for somebody’s heart. How we narrow our eyes at somebody’s dirt.

We are a millionaire, we have a right to choose. Even if we have no money at all, we feel like we have. Power, authority and fame reek around us. The eyes of the audience beam nervousness and jealousy.

Oh yes, dear, we are perfect on our own. We sculpted ourselves to be the one they will obey the most. We have the rights of everything and we have no place for rejected. We throw and burn them to death.

How fortunate we are, dear! We must be the elites of the nothingness!


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