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You really believe that you understand me.

That’s the laughable thing.

I have never needed you the way you need me. You are the obsessed one here. You’re the broken deluded toy.

I don’t care about you or your delusions, but you keep trying so I keep stopping you. You’re no more important to me than the random purse snatcher, no more than the lowest thug on the street.

The funniest thing about you is the way you believe the public think like you.

They’ve proved over and again that they don’t.

You lose. Again.


© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note: Very short, as I realised at 11pm while at a rock club night that I hadn’t written it… A companion piece to Wednesday’s story, a reply of sorts. Anybody want to guess who the two “speakers” are?)