I chain myself to my muse,

Stripping myself naked of all fear.

Only when I write I throw myself

Into the mire that is my self.

Deep within, meditated,

My feelings rocking trance-like in between my hands.

I toss them back and forth trying to make sense.

My spirit whirling dervish-like in my head

Outside of myself.

And I make feeble attempts to grip
onto that which is sand between my fingers.

But whatever else there is and promises to be,

There is never fear.

She is with me,

In sound and silence,

In rage and rapture.

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