Your gut feeling, that impending doom that seems to just fucking swallow the whole of you and then there's the paranoia that bites you down to the core as if you're going to be raped or humiliated or kidnapped-- which is worse is the problem

   and then there's the problem of a neverending sentence of where the next idea begins or where the next one starts or where you have to stop to take a breath because there is no punctuation sometimes and that ends up in one whole mess of a blur and sometimes you want to just

   throw it all back up into the vast nothingness of this empty world of this empty blank page of which you don't know what to do with it but sometimes the ideas are so cluttered it hurts your head and it 

   hurts it and hurts it and sometimes you see an idea forms in your head that perhaps neverending sentences are indeed the most beautiful sentences in the world because they are so abstract but

   what's a neverending sentence without a few apostrophes or line breaks or red squiggly lines under the word neverending because it is not a word in the oxford dictionary in which nothing really really matters because words are so beautiful and people are so dully brilliant that they can shine a million watts but still nothing can come out of their brain and no words can become real and silence is only your friend or your only friend now which one is it

   and you can't really tell anymore because all this neverending streams of sentences are too mixed up and garbled to make any sense but in the writer's case the million watt brain this makes the most sense in the world because

   this is what make you alive