You know who you are

It’s funny. Funny weird not funny ha-ha - how you rich are so inherently disassociated from the issues of those you secretly consider to be beneath you.
It is also in equal parts amusing and repellent, the way in which you feign interest in the life of the lower being, the worker, the servant.

It is at times difficult to settle upon which motive is the least devious – the one where you could care less about us living or dying, or the one in which you have no awareness of our existence in the first place.

Trying to be enlightened – to acknowledge your malice but then accept it and forgive, leaving it behind like an empty coffee cup for someone else to pick up, this quickly becomes an endurance test. At worst it descends into an occasion for hatred and arson. Darkness and murder.

I match your indifference, your inability to connect with other humans. I invented insincerity. And every false toothy bullshit smile you spray over people is just a poor imitation of something I started a hundred years before you even knew my name. You cannot even afford me the credit of your character, your mannerisms like every other pie you stick your fingers into – are stolen, inherited. Or by some other means given free to you. No work needed on your part.

You have done enough damage with your small needles, pin pricks time and again over the years, to create this circle. Bringing me all the way back round to hatred. Back around to anger and irrational thought.

But you have no knowledge of this. You never have – or will. Your life is too bright for you to be able to see. All that reflected sunlight. You are blinded by that which shines down only on you.


For Lu.