Perfectly Imperfect Me

I told him I was writer,

And saw his scheming glance,

He could live forever,

If I  gave him a chance.

He thought I would write him in every story,

As the dashing hero,

But I guess it is time he learned,

No one can control a writer you know.

I typed his name in ink as black his intentions,

And said it was no mistake that he was the villain,

Because that is all he would ever be,

To a writer like me.