You assemble; I take apart.
Your little plans crumble as soon as you turn your back,
And yet you imagine yourselves
To be very grand indeed.
Just one of your lives takes the better part of a year
To create and grow.
Oh, how it delights me to see it take
No more than a second to reduce to nothing.
Centuries of knowledge distilled into books,
The blood, sweat, and tears that it has taken—
To watch you deny it to the vast majority is so very satisfying.
And your sisters’ suffering in this respect is so precious.
The waste of intellect is delicious to me.
After all, what is the world without envy, jealousy, greed, and the need to control?
What would life be were it not for the rapacious appetites of some
For more than they can ever imagine to need,
While others languish for want of even a little?
Why should there ever be balance, as if it were your God-given right,
As if you deserved to be content with what you have,
Safe in the knowledge that you and everyone else
Were of one mind on the matter?
I invented game theory, you know.
It’s what keeps you looking over your shoulder all the time,
Suspecting everyone around you of doing
What you yourself are contemplating.
You make me laugh. You fall so easily, so quickly, so completely.
Sometimes even I am surprised by the deviousness of your machinations,
By the vengeance and pleasure
You seem to take in outdoing one another.
Truly you are my children.