One part of me is not me. The abundance of words I have spew. I am only eighteen. I am not at your disposal. You can never be me. That is both a threat and an insult by the time I am up in the evening. You'd see me with a divine halo, they see me within the frames of the Louvre, you can decide to use me but I will decide if you get to use me or otherwise. Actually, this is it. This is a complete suite of a fine comedy so fine I can hear Gonsung Long laughing in death.
You live for three months, you die off and regret every single words you have uttered to me. I was never about vengeance but I know about misplaced things, just not justice. Put things where they belong to. You're inbetween hell and someplace worse, that is. I'll look forward for small talks down there when I get there but until then don't get comfortable.
You can call me by my name but I will be the one deciding whether you're even worthy to have it to be spoken of. I speak evil. I speak death. But I don't use people at my disposal. If I am damned then, oh god, you have to be a pleader.
