“Come, sit with us here,” the musicians said

The writers made place for me in their stead

The artist drove a jagged brush in my heart

And watched in awe as blood bled art

“Worry not, master, I’ll suture it back, see”

The musician put an aux cord to stop the spree

And I felt life like nothing else brim in my brain

It all washed away at once, the disdain, the pain

“Here, take this, write. Write in the name of GOD!”

The writers gave me parchment, a pen and a prod

“Forget your inhibitions, friend. You’re safe here.”

So I wrote, I bled, I cried, and I danced aflare

And everything was all right once again for the time

There, in the warmth and oddity of that pantomime

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