Not necessarily my own, but also other's.
It makes us all human.
Misery, sadness, being crushed and devastation makes us all human and reminds us that we are in an imperfect world, governed by imperfect beings, causing absolutely perfect disasters.
I suppose, like ants; we just keep marching on.
The sadist in me revebrates with sick joy when I see you tossed out of your alignment.
It's sick, yes. But I suppose it's for all the lies you've told me and for all the things you hid from me, playing me out as the fool.
I can't say you deserve it. I have no right.
Lets just say I'm happy now.
But I will be judged.