The Death of Creativity

Plagiariser.
Are you pleased like the cat that got the cream. 
Lazing under the vine of my creativity. 
Spying is not the highest form of flattery.
You want to be original but you are not.
You want to be me, secretly, but you have lost the plot.
You plagiarise to improve another's work but you can't.
I never take what isn't mine.
I tell it like it is.
You can't pull out of you what little there is.
You can emulate and manipulate, but you'll never see.
You're a poor imitation and I'm what you want to be.
It's when we take pride in others success, that's when we succeed.
You wouldn't know inspiration if it slapped you in the face.
I wrote it, so next time you can quote it. How does that taste. I hope it stings. 
You have no muse, except that which you long to be.
You have no skill, no smarts, no personality. 
You live in your own world.
Much like me, but the difference is mine is full of wonder and possibility.
How do the sour grapes taste? - The ones you choose to eat. Don't pretend naivity. Pick them to make sour wine and drink yourself to sleep.
Emulation of what you hate is the highest form of flattery. 

You have no dreams except that which you try to steal from me. You're a schemer not a day dreamer, theft is your forte. 

Honestly, the death of you will be the beginning of creativity.