“What gets me is the laughter. Laughing, mocking, putting me to shame. Be careful to never shame others, there is someone out there just like you, like me, waiting in the shadows for the final stroke, the lash that brings to light the hidden madness. Be careful young soul that you do not mock the snake.”
“Never assume that the person you are dealing with is weaker or less important than you are. Some people are slow to take offense, which may make you misjudge the thickness of their skin, and fail to worry about insulting them. But should you offend their honor and their pride, they will overwhelm you with a violence that seems sudden and extreme given their slowness to anger.” – Robert Greene, 48 Laws of Power
I coil around these young, nurturing their venomous beginnings. Ever aware, hyper-vigilant, to protect and bring to maturation these slithering things. They‘ve become my children. In them I invest my time and energy, daily laboring, thinking about their growth and how they will manifest in this humbled time. My nest, being formed in the moist and dark, is where they grow, and where the stench festers inciting more depravity from the natural courses that flow so easily. The rubbish of shame and hate piled on my fertile ground, gives rise to a perfect incubator for my brood. Throw another log on you spoiled soul, forget not that under your insults, warmth and protection brought about by numb insulation, cords piled high, will let my life swarm. Not one bite will injure you, but many, not from one direction, but from several. You gave me advantage by leaving the dark crevices where I crawl and my thirst for poisoned blood grows. I can prosper in obscurity, in the loneliness you force on me with your betrayals and mocking laughter. Night has come, I find myself drawn from the pile. You forget that life grows dark even in your world and there is where I prosper, having grown accustomed to the dimness in your dungeon. Feel your skin crawl as sounds of my approach come near. I taste your fear with my carefully timed flicks of tongue. I feel your vibrations, you can’t run. Where will you go? Naturally you will find a dark place, a hole to run to. There I will catch you, and the dull red of your hatred of my life will flow thickly into my long furnace. Here the heat will consume you, and I will crawl, satiated with revenge, leaving the bones and fur of your carcass as testimony to the lethality of leaving your shamed captives alive.