It’s just a process.

There’s always a pull from somewhere inside me. When it’s dark enough, quiet enough, and I’m alone with my eccentricities; that’s when I feel it. Or rather, that’s when I hear it. A cacophony of madness, bedlam in its truest form. Calling me out. Taunting me haughtily, noxious and begrudging me my peace. “Do something. ” it says. “Do something!” it screams. “Do something!” it begs. Alluring, intoxicating, it flutters around my consciousness coercing my mind to express all I muse. Terrifying and liberating all at the same time. To this I succumb. Toiling until I’m exhausted. The result, ramblings, rants and ravings. Poetic pros and dark plots. Worlds and people that exist only in my mind. In the end it’s just a process.

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