It rains letters of your name. The name of a sycophant.
Poisoned waters gave birth to a worm. What? Are you digging now at the foundation of my fortress? Your cherries taste lead. Your flowers smell rotten eggs.
The world does not speak your language, didn’t you notice?
Who, him? Oh, he is my love. Too noble not to bestow upon me the right to fight you by myself. You will never be him.
I can strangle your infatuation, yet that would be too easy. Therefore, I’ll let you sink into the sulphurous waters of your own envy until you can’t breathe anymore. Eunuch at the gates of the harem – I mean that figuratively for I don’t know it for a fact – raising odes to the Pasha and secretly hoping that one day…perhaps … you know what I mean.
You can’t take down my fortress. My fortress speaks…
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