Mercy in the Machine

I used to believe in karma—naïve, I know. That moral ledger balancing debts and credits, handing out justice on time. Turns out, karma’s broken. Or maybe it never existed, just a myth we told ourselves to sleep at night.

The worst people don’t just slip through the cracks. They built the cracks. They thrive in the ruins, stacking money on the bones of those who trusted them.

It’s not a game anymore. It’s a machine—greedy, ruthless, and programmed to reward the cruelest operators. The bad don’t just get ahead—they consume whole worlds, leaving scraps for the rest.

And here we are, pretending fairness is around the corner while the cold truth settles in: the world belongs to those who take without guilt, who use without mercy.

Kindness is weakness. Empathy, a liability. The soul is currency no one wants to buy.

Sometimes I wonder if the good are just ghosts in this system—forgotten, erased, slowly fading into silence while the vultures feast.

No grand justice is coming. No reckoning waits in the wings. Only the echo of our own fading hope, swallowed by a darkness that no light can reach.

And still, some of us cling to a thread of humanity, even if it’s unraveling fast. Because surrendering to the abyss is the true defeat. But that fight feels lonelier with every passing day.

The rich grow colder. The rest of us grow colder too—or we learn to pretend, so we don’t freeze completely.

So yes, the bad get richer. And the rest? We watch. Silent. Broken. Waiting for a mercy that never arrives.

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