Every poet is nasty.
They make up words --stealing them from every single damned being they have encountered.
I don't want your love, I want your egotistical to drive me mad. I don't want your touch, I just want to feel your whisper of sweet nothings bathing over me. I don't want your promises, I want all of your lies to sugar-coated me. I don't want your attention, I badly want your ignorance to keep me starving for days. What I want? I certainly don't want you but I want what I want from you. For I am that one nasty little poetess you knew quite well who will suck inspirations out of you --to get my fingers dancing on the papers with words and oh! nothing but words while my heart burning down in flames for you.
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