If I die, will you still revel in all the arguments you won?  Will you still think back to all the times you’ve yelled at me, and smile with pleasure?

If I die, will you still continue to fight fire with fire, and maybe find a stronger victim to challenge your loud, angry voice?

If I die, will you miss watching me cry, because that meant that you won the battle?  Do you need me to find you a replacement before I die, in case you suffer from a lack of people to yell at?

If I die, are you going to start targeting mom?  Emotionally abuse her just the way you did to me, so you can be self-assured that you’re still a man?

If I die, will you realize that you’re not a man, but a monster?  Will you realize that you don’t need food to survive, but you need to feed off of other people’s agony to feel a sense of self-satisfaction?

If I die, have you thought about where to find your next playtoy?  Are you going to wear sheep’s clothing into the store, or pretend to be a cultured man? 

If I die, will you realize that your act isn’t going to last much longer?

If I die, will you regret anything?