[one of the angels on your shoulders]

"...it's... it's there."

half dead from exhaustion,
but unwilling to shut my eyes
to this pure exhillaration I feel--
friends who believe in you, call at 4 in the morning--
who tell you that if you stop writing
you may as well kill yourself--
you're the most successful person I know
and you're so much younger than I am--
I don't consider myself that successful, yet--
you can say that now, until
you compare yourself to others your age
it's not hard to feel above people your age--
and tell you you're talented
that your book-- which they love
is a compilation of a thousand intelligent ideas
put them into a character and write a novel
you'll have a bestseller, for sure--
I know you will,
you have the talent-- it's... it's there--
friends who compare you
no, classify you
in the rankings of Palahniuk
and Danielewski--
don't take what I say with a grain of salt
take it with a whole lot of salt
I'm just one of the angels on your shoulders...