i watch as they
skate the line
between
inspiration
and outright
plagiarism
the only thing
separating
the two
is the lack
of natural talent
to make the words
their own
but blinded to
this basic fact

collecting words
phrases
mimicking style
emulating
cadence
missing metaphors
and the heart
that makes
emotion flow
leaving a turgid
flood of falsehoods
ringing, ever fading
copies
unable to create
anything of
their own

and it spreads
the plagiaristic
plague of
nearly poetic
sicknesses
until all can see
the flattery
has been bled out
leaving only
the corpses of
creativity
a wave of mosquitoes
leaving malarian
loveletters to
the ones from whom
they happily drain