power without sense? your story is written.
You can't read. You can't write. You can't sing or dance or paint. You can barely form a sentence and even then, you leave us all guessing. You don't believe in religion as a whole, said its a thing for self-absorbed assholes (like myself) looking for validation. You don't believe in the idea of helping anyone or anything, yet here you are--begging on your knees. And for what? You've got money. You've got time. You've got power. So what? Begging on your knees for your dignity, no doubt. Or your youth, or your love, or best of all: A place to die. If I were you, I'd leave now, quit while I was ahead, because you'll find there's nothing left for you here (besides hatred--not quite so proud of all your burned bridges now, are you?), and there's nothing special about carving gravestones out of your brother's ashes.
