Plagiarism is the seventh deadly sin of writing
Not only does it hurt the owner, but it also hurts you in time
Why do you need another's words to be noticed and set apart?
Those little red hearts aren't worth **** if it's not your art

Don't you feel incomplete?
Isn't it bitter without the sweet?
Can you not use your own voice?
Do you not feel guilt or remorse?
Don't you have things to say?
Or is likes all you seek in this day?
If that's true,
then I've got news
This won't make you happy
Happy comes from within
(or with some therapy)

But you will not find accolades
in claiming words you didn't say!
If writing is a passion you wish to pursue,
then, by all means, continue
With some practice, you might just be
as good as you lie to make us believe

You're searching for even the slightest validation for your inexcusable actions, transient in both values and the physical realm, collecting conquests and usurpees like how one might collect trophies from animals they hunt, faces frozen in a false expression with unseeing glassy eyes as they are forever immortalised in your sick collection to be made a mockery of long after the passage of time takes it's toll on both the images and the subjects.
A calculated maliciousness disguised as an indecisive personality, you are a bottom-feeder grafting onto the bellies of whomever are blissfully unaware or trusting enough to swim by you; but your own is yellow as a summer's day is long; not from just cowardliness, no, but from **** (sans the vinegar), and I wish I could compose this prose into something a little less hateful and a little more tasteful, but I won't spare you another second of my time, I'll erase you from my mind.

So maybe I got riled up, and thought he was trying to steal my ****.

I don't work at Stop & Shop anymore, but I still
almost cried at those dogs,
on television.
The world is an impure place, but in times of trouble, you can always double your dose.

Trouble us. Forever.

As low, in your clever-minded excuses, to get out of your
parents' disapproval.
I bought so many
hallucinations, that I'm debating a few more.

Hope I remember writing these words. Scary to consider,
but there, nonetheless. The world is
melting into all sorts.
Colors, that I love.

Hope I remember writing these words, and the light,
reflecting off the ink,
in rainbows of black. The
ash, an impossibly-unforeseen consequence,
of the cigarette. The
cancer is laughed off. And you had forgotten my name.

Cutting up the canvas, she called it, "blood," even though, by a trained-eye, it lacked.  
Any tactic will take flight.
Take care to catch yourself when your wax melts onto your owned face.
Not your practiced one.

You don't know how it feels
to find out there's someone else
and not be able to do anything
to prevent the feelings that will
follow up and eventually take
that one special person that
makes everything okay away
from you..

I want to steal your kisses,
And your time,
And your love.
I want to breathe in your air,
And your feelings,
And bits of your soul.
I want to inhale your history,
And your sadness,
And your happy.
I want to wrap my arms around your shoulders,
And your heavy heart,
And your splintered spine.
I want to take your heartbreak,
And your worry,
And your tears.
I want to wipe away your jutted lip,
And furrowed brow,
And damp cheeks.

I want to steal every single part of you,
And only give back,
The good stuff.

Movies. Shows. Clips.
I stare into screens that take me away.
My mind lapses & my mind begins to play.
Every day a screen steals my time.
A robber of thoughts, theft of the mind.

First the illicit thrill
Becomes routine habit
Run of the mill
Like you're invincible.

Once, your heart beated
Feverish, hesitant,
Now you swagger, unheated,
The cheat can't be cheated.

The check-out girl, Lizzie,
Is trusting and smiling
Then she turns away, busy
And you're suddenly dizzy.

To your pocket inside
Go the chocolate bars -
Though it's undignified
There's a strange kind of pride.

Then - out of the blue,
In front of the world,
One day she asks you....
And what can you do?

...But collapse to your core
Like a worm-eaten apple
Pray to fall through the floor
You are Named, evermore.

Oh - the shame! she's disgusted
You're a thief, you're mistrusted
All that shock and self-loathing
For those moments you lusted.

Poor girl, she won't be aware
That her face and her voice
Will feature forever
As worst memory, lowest nightmare.

You'll be chilled to the bone
And you'll ask yourself "Why?"
Without job, wife or home,
Foolish, guilty, alone?

Yes, you out there wherever you may be
You try to steal our souls in poems
We know you, to the tee

What twisted motives to be us, by proxy, what cowardess you be
What an empty vessel posses you, such sadness, such despair
You pick our hard imagined fruit and not from your own tree

You clone our minds, like leaches on our skin
You wish us harm, you thieving ***
You wormy monster, a slug, next to kin

I curse you
I loath you
I hate you
You stealers of our youth
Betrayers of our written souls
What lacks is pride, and owners of the truth