Page 19 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

The family you cherish,

the things we create.

The art.

The music.

The food we ate.

The words we write.

The stories we tell.

The fights we fight.

The ways we excel.

The sculptures.

The poems.

The novels.

The flowers.

The trees.

The birds.

The bees.

It’s even carried on the fucking breeze,

that graces your face,

and makes you feel alive.

It isn’t in the houses, money, or the car you drive.

If you think it is...

Then you’ve led a very sad life.”

The red spotlight turned gold, and he started to pull on the rope around his neck, taking a moment before he spoke again.

“Do you want to live in a web of lies?

Or are you ready to face the truth,

as it stands before you in a blue boiler suit?

My name is S.K.A.M.

But I’m no scam artist.

I’m a peddler of points of view.

A dealer for the demoralised.