You have literally poured every single feeling that comes with the disorder into your scribbles. It’s not poetry, not for a mere eager second actually. You’ve managed to scribble while your mind is, basically, on mental fire. That’s way more than poetry, that’s.. much more than basic word-use. Probably even deeper than poetry and, yet, you seem to have only, what feels like, touched the surface with it all. If a person is sinking they will ultimately do all that they can to achieve a semblance of comfort. To survive. The words are the comfort-zone. No two ways about that. Always were and always will be. It’s just an automatic thing now which will only ever cease its relentless creative push, perhaps, when I try and not think about it for maybe a half-a-day. But, then, utterly unanticipated, you will suddenly find yourself right back in the thick of it and working with what feels like a landscape of literary twists and turns and at your utter disposal. You’ve earned it more than anyone else can ever even start to try and comprehend. You’ve settled into a serious story. Storyline, even. But it’s more than even that. It’s about observing things without actually feeling as though anything is being observed. It’s trained into you one-hundred-percent. People, mainly, I guess, would be the main source of observation. But… it’s just… this living, breathing thing in you – inside of your mind – that has to be placed in the right and correct rhythmic order somehow. Certainly in so far as I am concerned anyhow. So, yeah, however hard it does tend to get… I’ve got this, always bloody well did. And as for the scribbles. That’s my only certainty with regards the direction it is going in for me. And, more than that, it is the only certainty I wish to entertain. Bomb the whole wide world, I’ll still smile and do my thing. It was never about the outside world with this disorder. The telling word is disorder. And as for the rest of it? A storyline that no-one will ever understand. A storyline that makes horror films seems like bloody rosy red romantic movies in comparison. Still, though, that’s what happened and that’s what made the scribbles what it is. What made me what I am, too, I guess. No more than a hobby and I’m no more than a decent fella with a strange and utterly unasked for disorder of the brain 😃