To’ve ticker-taped it all again is to’ve ticker-taped themselves on-in to a fine ol’ game – of let’s be Avin’ It All Immediately NOW PLEASE. “She didn’t seem slightly addled nor ably well-adjusted just This

TickToCk ticker-tape(as we say) bride of irreparable angst actually.” To try and understand her daftest life’s hand really is to’ve Been barking-mad and with her all of her own way. We will judge, won’t budge, until the other person becomes

Highly insufferable. Their endgame was happening all of the time, “owing to an OCD dilapidation of strife.” They were crawling across a thousand HOT&TEMPERED thoughts and ATTEMPTING to reimburse their brOkEn brains every single second OF EVERY_ SINGLE_ DAY. What

Did it mean to’ve gotten all caughtUP inside of an (utterly) inexplicable mental deterioration other than an utterly

******* uncertain sense of territory? As their SCOOP of humour bleeds to breathe anyway, their million-dollar-words wander “WAY UP WHERE(??)” And swimming in a million different directions of mentally OUT-LOUD discretion(!!!) “Did she really well and SURELY-BOTH-TRULY (just) lose her wonderful mind about a thousand times per day?” Maybe yes, but she and we cannot know

The depth of alarming angst {THAT SURVIVES} inside of an oCD mind. Like sOURcing decks and decks of 2ND-hand information from other people’s sophomore brains so as to make something suddenly influential and workable

Deep-down inside of their aforesaid mental strain. Still a brain and stILL trying to ably misbehave until such-a-day as they do not get-to-say: “Back Safe (and SILENCED) Inside Of A HospitalB€D For Your Head Today.”