It was not what they said.
It was what they repeated until it became rule.
Repetition does not cleanse. It hardens.
Do you believe?
Then believe.
Believe in the tongue as if it were evidence,
in saliva as if it were thought,
in rumor as if it were biography.
You don't know me.
You know a void.
And, as every void unsettles, you fill it with hot clay:
my name becomes small change in your wheel of boredom,
an emotional coin to buy belonging.
You don't investigate. You infect.
A sentence passes.
The body reacts first.
Then the mind invents a beautiful reason for the reaction.
And just like that: a certainty is born, smelling of panic.
I entered among you with hope.
I left with a diagnosis.
Not of myself. Of the environment.
Of the mechanism.
Of the way a group feeds on a target so it doesn't have to face its own mirror.
There are many traitors, of course.
The few clean voices were swallowed early,
not for lack of courage,
but because courage does not become a meme.
And there is the worm.
The worm disguised as companionship,
as shared laughter,
as “we are close”,
as a casual touch that turns into alliance and, the next day, into a knife.
It grows in mirroring, in automatic agreement,
in that false tenderness that asks for only one thing in return: submission.
I observe.
Cold not from lack of feeling,
but from discipline.
I learned not to hand my state over to cheap stimuli.
I know there are people who live to pull triggers,
to tug strings in your body and call the spasm truth.
No, I will not explain myself to noise.
Noise does not want answers; it wants reaction.
And reaction is the worm’s favorite food.
I am a strategist of distance, ya.
Distance is not escape. It is selection.
I separate what is given from what is invented,
what is fact from what is hunger,
what is human from what is theater.
I expected eyes.
Eyes that could read what silence writes.
I found an audience.
And an audience does not want to see. It wants to watch.
I diagnosed the field: there are good ones, average ones, bad ones.
And there are those who feign kindness to harvest gratitude,
and those who outsource cruelty to keep their hands clean.
These are the most dangerous, because they seem harmless until the blade touches.
And the worm, patient, laughs last?
Don't be fooled.
The worm only laughs while there is flesh available.
When the flesh is gone, it chews its own tongue.
