Edgar Allan Poe

And you wrote my obituary with your whole chest, which is honestly the most memorable thing you ever published.

I met the man and can confirm: he is neither as gloomy as advertised nor as petty as his enemies' stationery.

Bold of you to defend him when your own endings are always crying in a corner.

You wrote a bird poem and a whole generation still won’t stop quoting it like it’s a personality.

I can survive your review, Rufus. You, however, must survive being remembered only as my bad press.

That’s rich coming from a man whose entire career is one long side-eye in footnotes.

Henry, please. Your verses are so polite they could be served with tea and no opinions.

Say what you want, but history will remember who controlled the narrative.

Spelling is the least of your problems, Edgar. The public prefers their poets alive and manageable.

I have toured entire continents and never seen someone hold a grudge with this much stationery.

You didn’t give it attention, Rufus, you gave it a smear job with footnotes.

Bold from a man whose whole brand is one bird and three moods.

You say that like I didn’t give your name more attention than your actual friends did.

You can own the notifications, sir, but you still can’t write a paragraph worth keeping.

And yet here you are replying from the afterlife like I still own your notifications.