Closure?
Oh hark! What light through yonder meltdown breaks? It is the east—and Ichihime’s fake.
Thou say’st, “I take it not to heart”—yet lo! Thy trembling hand doth type thee to and fro. Three scrolls of text, like monologues of woe, All just to say, “You’re wrong”—we know, we know.
Thy canon claim? A castle built on sand. No plot, no plan, no gently guided hand. But duct-taped dreams and flashbacks dressed as fate, Like Kubo scrawled it in a lunch break state.
Orihime, though sweet, was left adrift, A goddess trapped in fridge-like story rift. And Ichigo, once fire and rage and flame, Now stares through life like joy forgot his name.
So rail and wail, dear bard of canon’s court, But know thy kingdom’s thin—and frail of sort. For though the ending’s etched in ink-stained lore, Its hollow echoes reach the soul no more.
And if thou think’st a tag should bar dissent, I bid thee block—and spare thy discontent. 😁