My Dear Meister

Your mind is never quiet, though you very often are. I know this well enough from all the times I've tried to get your attention and you were too absorbed in your thoughts to hear me.

In your mind there is a constant roar, not from voices of author's opinions fighting over each other to be heard, but rather the roar of a fire that is continually stoked by your thinking.

The flames lick at your sanity and the more you try to feed your mind the more you feed the fire.

Sometimes you can't sleep because the blaze is too much, the brightness of it keeps you awake or the burning of your eyes from its smoke or the smell of the short singed hairs around your face distract you from much needed rest.

You wake up in the morning and your skull feels like it could split. The doctors call it a migraine but you and I both know better, it's the fire burning on inside you with a vengeance.

At times you pass out, give into a blackness because the flames devour the oxygen you need to function; only when they've decided that they've had their fill do they recede and let your consciousness return.

The embers crackle and allow you some reprieve, though only for a moment, because as soon as your mind starts churning again, the fire is fed and it rages in you until the cycle is repeated.