I once met a mademoiselle weeping cherries and petals on her cheeks. She beseeches the quiescence to consign her tears for the god of the abyss to kindle flames throughout the surface of a foolish queen. She offers her blood to form lines created from an account of a region of spacetime that even light cannot escape from it. Darling, enough provoking a poetess to put you in silence through commanding her self-created gorgons and make you your statue of travesty and forged artistry.
These are enough to shatter one's domain, if and only if that poet will claim the revelation of a monster beneath the original creator of a ******* world through the inks exuded by the great gutsy spider. That is how a poet bespeaks the reused and reclaimed epistles of the mythical raging Dragonite goddess.
This is how a poetess speaks volume about plagiarism.