I might not have it all, and what I’ve got
may not last for all the days of my life.

But I have it right now.
I have the words.

So, I’m lonely (a circumstantial and temporary loneliness),
and I can feel Time sanding me down and sucking me dry.
But I’m not alone: I haven’t lost my voice.

Even if, like Savannah Wingo in the Prince of Tides,
I have to write my lines in wet sand,
I am writing them down.

Try and breach my heart for your own ends –
will it spark a slow burn that only lights up how alone I am?
Sure.

But you have not seen alchemy like this before:
where I spin diamond-threads out of pain,
never mind gold out of straw.

You get 5 minutes of greedy pleasure,
but I am getting me a muse.
And any emotion will do.