You call yourself clever, but I see you for what you are—
emotional parasite vermin feeding on hearts that are not yours.
You don’t live—you leech.
You drain joy, you siphon strength, you gnaw at hope as if it were crumbs left behind on the floor.

You thrive in shadows, because light would expose you.
You thrive in weakness, because you have none of your own power.
Every smile you wear is a mask, every word you speak is bait,
every connection you make is nothing but a vein for you to sink your fangs into.

Vermin. That’s what you are.
Not a beast to fear, not a predator to admire—
just a crawling, slithering thing that survives off what others bleed for.

And yet you think it’s survival.
You think it’s cunning.
But I’ll tell you what it really is:
pathetic.

Because parasites never stand on their own.
They only take.
They only cling.
They only destroy.

And when the host cuts you off,
when the vessel refuses to feed you,
when the soul you’re gnawing on finally awakens—
you will starve.
Because without others to drain,
you are nothing.
Nothing but the rot you’ve always been.