Once the poem has been finished
The muse must be killed.
I fed on you. You and your twisted ways provided me with a good amount of inspiration.
But now I find you dull and meaningless and so I must move on.
You, who unknowingly asked for everything and felt disgusted at the very possibility of all your needs being catered for, are to be left just as you desire.
Heaven forbids you should ever find out you were wrong...
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