Pick someone. Start talking. No script.
Fires people before coffee. Remembers how you take yours.
Published at nineteen. Cannot calculate what you do to his heart rate.
The empire kneels to him. He kneels to fix your sleeve.
Fifty thousand lightsticks for him. His light is backstage, holding his water bottle.
Every song he writes has no name. You know who they're about.
Steady hands in the ER. They shook once — reading your name on the patient list.