False politeness, panic with a dogface, two-faced.
The fractal spirlal of one tragedy to the next, and the fine like between comedy and tragedy.
Words and slander attempting to bring you down, like taking their wicked lies of guilt out upon you for you are the shameless. You are the unbroken and the proud.
Watch them wilt like the roses on the deathbeds of their dying mothers.
Watch their guilt and shallow nostalgia and naive vanity overpower them.
False smiles and feigned politeness followed by wicked tangents attempting to bring you down, the rotting flesh of their dying mothers reaking at the nostrils of the living, the undefiable pain and suffering. Ah, but the pain of another is just so hilarious, so let us laugh at the corpse locked in the cellar, let us laugh at the basking misery of the abused children, left to rot in the care of wicked men.
Let us turn out politness and love and care into snide remarks and laughter, because that is so much easier then compassion, it makes us cool and sturdy to laugh at the misfortunes of the others, it makes us strong and immortal, so laugh with me nao at the misfortunes of others. There is a fine line between tragedy and comedy.