Take me in again, won't you? Let me be rash. And my rashness won't matter, for a smattering of pretty words is all you will need to magically transform it into an artist's anger. It won't matter, my cruelty, for a well crafted metaphor is all you will demand to elevate it to righteousness.
Allow me again to be a denizen of your lush land of letters, where possibility bows to reality, where I can sieve gold dust even from the dourest reality. Allow me my aimless yet fervid meandering. Allow me my accurate yet tangential recitations.
Take my peace. Give me verse. Take my reason. Give me insanity. Take my solitude. Embrace me.