A muse landed on my shoulder and whispered 'Come, Write. With Me, Forever!'

A distraction landed on the other side 'Come writhe with me forever.'

Stop it, you two. This is what you do.

I have clear head, of the things to be said.

Then the world distracts from beauty led, and a true dialog of heart yearn is forgotten.

Lost. A sing song of words that defy utterance of the fading lyrics.

I soldier on through the dialogs of a heart's crying. I push breaths with heart crushed the dialogs of tender sighing.

I need you both to behave.

Muse. Short works of description in concept and depth are nice, but they do not sustain. They need life's breaths supported by plot.

Distraction. I do need food and air and errands of care. Without them nothing gets written.

Please be sympathetic together for a little while, and let the lessons (you both have said) make it out onto virtual paper.