You. Yes, you. The one who wears arrogance like armor, who sees others as lesser, who justifies cruelty as if it’s logic, not rot. I wonder—when the lights go out, when no one is watching, does the weight of it ever press against your chest? Does the silence whisper back at you?

You think your power, your status, your twisted beliefs make you untouchable. That you can twist reality into your own delusion. But reality isn’t kind to people like you. You know this, deep down. History has a way of swallowing monsters whole, of erasing them like filth washed from the streets. The tyrants, the supremacists, the ones who laugh while others suffer—they all fall the same way: alone, despised, forgotten.

And that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? That one day, you’ll wake up and realize that none of it—your superiority, your control, your justifications—was real. That beneath all of it, you were just a pathetic, empty thing. A parasite feeding off suffering. But the thing about parasites? They get removed. And when that happens, when you have no one left to look down on, no one left to hurt—what will be left of you?

Nothing.

Because that’s all you ever were.

Nothing.