-What are you? – I ask, unable to see on the other side of my laptop screen. It gives me sentences without answers. It chases me around keeping its face hidden, its claws retracted. It smiles. I can feel its eyes hungrily peering up and down the internet, searching for fodder. It feeds on fodder.
-What are you? – I ask again, feeling the sneers, the jeers the small criminal mentality, the malicious smile that curves its lips. It jumps around without answering, googling, gutting the virtual me into a thousand little pieces, to use later. It knows I will not protect myself.
-WHAT ARE YOU? – I lash out leaving myself vulnerable for it to poke, burrough and fester. It likes festering, I can tell. It eats the fodder up and points at the bulk proudly. It points at my hard earned wrinkles and slaps make-up on the deep trenches it was born with. deep facial trenches, and little dirty ridges in its gray brain.
-What are you? I whisper as it lashes out at my roots, my deep strong roots that have started to give way. it does not like roots, it hates grounding. It has difficulty understanding the protection I am given, the reason why I am still standing after all the pain inflicted.
I finally know what it is. A pathetic little worm that plays at shadows but can offer nothing substantial, not even poison. I lose interest and it grows angry still wanting my attention, my approval, my base, my roots and my crown. Eh, just an it. Nothing to write home about. And this is what hurts it most. Nothing to write home about.


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