a writer never dies — stories never end
your character still breathes, I hear him
tied in metal chains (now rusting) you so selfishly gifted him…
he shouts, he sobs, he silently cries to sleep
but you! You sowed the seed but hate your plant yourself?
Forget to water it when blooms the flower, to kill it?
killers, murderers, they’re all sinners. Even if it’s ‘only’ a character.
I don’t get what your reasons are, why ‘hate’ exists as much as
it does, but:
a person with a pen must not let his ink finish so irresponsibly,
without at least granting his characters a life of eternity,
which they all deserve advertently. Immorality! Infinity!