Enshroud it in swatches of noir, then kill it.
Never forget words are immortal. Sometimes.
Send it to the graveyard of such pages
Or reincarnate it as part of a cereal box
Or toilet paper.
Nonetheless, it is corrupt like me. No matter the form,
It is stained with my dark words and blackened by intent.
Like me. Unlike me,
It's only paper. No intent to corrupt and no speech,
Other than what my death dealing quill drips upon it.
Still ignored, though it may become part of a cereal box
Or toilet paper.
My evil posterity, across the centuries, gets eaten
On Time's breakfast table, but I still have the
Satisfaction of defiling a virgin white piece of paper.