Her pretty lithe pen with the dancing dragons pressed dutifully right by the shape of the screaming inside

Losing the cognitive lottery – what today will lose tomorrow might win

Might, might, might. Ahead of her time? Behind, irreparably submerged, some might say… she’s been smashing Grandfather clocks which only ever truly get to exist for themselves within a farfetched replication, a faraway face of her favourite best ancestors who’ve been counting Roman sheep inside of their numerical dreams

Yes, halfway insane, in so far as her breakneck speed brain won’t play the same game minus artistic exaggeration multiplied by too much overwhelm to sidestep and proceed

When the right side of the brain went blindingly wrong

Unfathomable misrepresentation and she gets to watch it all unwind while trying, trying, trying to sit remarkably still, would not manage it even if his life depended on it… because, simply said, it still will

When the crying mind fails to find the cranium crime and wrap a red ribbon right by it