you spilled your spoiled ink on blank sheets of paper to write about how girls fall in love with writers like yourself. you praised and sanctified them as beings so precious and out of reach. However, every word you jotted down sent daggers through their hearts; nothing but desire and dehumanization leaked out of the tip of your pen. Self victimization was your new sanctuary, making yourself so small and vulnerable so all the paragraphs dedicated to the immortality of your lovers were merely an autobiography of your inner state and rotting soul, with a fleeting smell of the girls you narcissistically devoured. so do not dare and sprinkle my emotions over the mess of words you put together.
do not dare and meddle with a girl whose pencil and paper are her only weapons, her delicately formed syllables will slither their way between the lines of your poetry. she will make sure her presence is prominent in every single move you desire to do and every girl you seek shelter in.
//I do not need your poetry to sustain my immortality.// -ser.
