I am on the pursuit of unknown success and poet insight, with my bare hands and awful veins, my pleasurable ink is waiting for my thoughts. The thoughts who create art and salvation for my dearest, loved lady. Good or bad, I am a poet, a careless and imprudent writer. The clueless minds of this land have fallen miserably, and I have achieved great knowledge. I have wrote their births, their lives and their deaths. Unfortunately, I am yet to find the key to describe their souls, their empty, dark and lonely souls. I am the arrival of the new era, and hopefully you will look back and think how much I have done for my happiness, or undeniable depression. Greatness will find me joy, therefore I will offer passion, heat and love to my nearest. When I pass away, someone will cry in dire pain, and I will enjoy it...cruelly.
Poor hearts, poor minds, poor mouths. Go away, I do not want to see people, I do not wish to know someone who likes me, however, what I need the most, what I desire the most, is love. It is your love, my precious baby, growing old with me. I want to steal your grown love and store it inside my body. It will not escape and I will be happily thankful for such extraordinary devotion to my person.
Please, will you not go away, dear? Do not go, I am your soul, inside your heart.