Your crown is made of the people’s bones and hunger.

Your victory is composed of their losses and cries.

If you’ve come this far by refusing to look behind you, your mind, then, is dethroned in loss. The condescending smile smeared on your countenance is deserving of condemnation from those who have acted as your slippers, lifting you inches off the ground, only to then carry you to your handmade palace.

Is it so acceptable, however, for you to go and lie in your canopy bed, with your face so empty and expressionless, after you tucked those slippers underneath it? In the time when you are most alone, your condescending smile should shine the brightest, and yet, your pupils quiver under your rested eyelids.

For it is your mind that is dethroned in loss, and it is your body that acts in rejoice. No matter the fight your mind puts up, your arms will deflect it, your feet will move on. You have trampled on those beneath you; you mustn’t run away now.

Or else your victory will falter; even the dead will condemn you. What you can do, the only option left for you, is to continue wearing your slippers, and, continue trampling on your mind.