To write is to breathe.

It is part of who I am,

essential for me to live.

Words bend to my will,

and I bend to theirs.

The pen is my sword,

and the paper my shield.

It shields my thoughts, my pain, my joy,

and never will you penetrate that shield.

Your words can never hurt me,

but mine can hurt you.

For you see my words are immortal,

destined to live forever, even long after their master is gone,

and can cause you more pain than you could ever know.

But your words, no they shall not last,

your mocking will last only a fleeting moment,

your laughs and jeers a second in the master map of time.

You and I will die, oh yes,

our bodies will decay beneath the ground,

but part of me will be forever immortal.

Can you say the same?