You spent your whole life scrutinizing Gojo Satoru, whether from afar or not. Every step, every breath, every huff of his pride. The way people would cling to him in all of false glory. Makes you fucking hate him. Wishing for death or demise. Wishing the reality of mortality would consume. Wishing you would be like him. Then maybe, just maybe people would regard you as poet, not just a reason to.

Oh but no, how could you? Shall the gods strike you down if you forsake him in. For he was the one illuminated you to make art. For him who was like a brother to you, different mothers within spirit in the same womb. All your gratitude, your respect goes to him. But each night spent dreaming was all;

❛ If not for your place, it should be mine.❜

But love only goes so far as Hate juxtaposes all principles of said. His heartfelt words, though just the title of him entraps you more. Should you embrace it? What drives you, is it the longing desire to feel, or the rage that transpires? The craving for satisfaction, held back by your own gender.

Maybe you could at least make way for him too, Until the day he comes. And maybe your name could also be known, finally proving your place and restoring greatness to 'Rome'.

The ballad of your name, proven greatness in the chant of the people. Or your mind Roughhousing against you in a fit. Selfishly grasping the knife when the day comes.