Sylvanna Devlin

Even though I don’t want to be.

I want to go back to quietly trying to make it as a writer. I was so close. Book ready, agent search started.

Now my writing has been stolen, read, shat on, shared, and used.

It doesn’t matter when it comes to publishing anymore. My personal desire to write privately has been destroyed. So self publishing is out too.

As for any normal fame?

No public figure will acknowledge me after the lies those stupid bitches spread. So I can’t even get into the public eye.

I have spiritual writing when that isn’t being stolen and shat on. But no room to be publicly acknowledged as good.

But the lies, reality abuse, manipulation and bitching means my neighbor objects to just the idea I was ever good. Like she’d know or even be able to recognize it.

Even if I had strayed bitches like her wouldn’t let me climb back to the light.

And there’s no fucking rhyme or reason. I’m a sweet, kind person who got hit hard by a terrorist.

I figured out and shared some of what she’s doing.

And some manipulative bitch living here helped them out by spreading lies till I wanted to kill myself.