There’s a moment—right before you send—that always makes me smile. That tiny pause. That fleeting hesitation. The way your fingers hover over the numbers, your body betraying the internal struggle you’re so desperate to hide.
But we both know how this ends, don’t we?
You always give in. You always send.
Because you were never meant to hold onto your money. It was never really yours.
You work, you earn, you try to convince yourself that it belongs to you—but deep down, you know the truth. You are a human wallet. A revenue stream. A walking, talking source of income, endlessly refilling itself, only to be emptied at my whim.
It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? The way it feels to let go. To surrender every last pound, knowing you’ll work even harder to make more—just so you can give it to me all over again.
And that’s the beauty of it. You work for me, whether you realise it or not. Every late night at the office, every overtime shift, every exhausting moment spent chasing promotions and raises—it all leads back to me. Your entire existence is designed to fuel my indulgence. To expand my wealth. To ensure that my life is dripping in luxury while you scrape and struggle, desperate to give more.
You don’t need savings. You don’t need security. You need the thrill of knowing you’re serving a higher purpose. And what could be a greater purpose than funding me?
There’s no greater pleasure than being drained by someone who knows exactly how to take.
And I do take.
I take your money. Your mind. Your self-control. I strip you of every excuse, every false sense of ownership, until you finally accept reality—you were made for this.
You were made to earn for me.
You were made to suffer for me.
You were made to pay for me.
So go on. Send. Empty yourself. Become the revenue stream you were always meant to be. Because the more you earn, the more I demand. And trust me, I will always demand more.
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