What is the truth, merely a reality one minute to the next aka snapping out of it

start writing-she said as if she knew about the contents of her head shave off pieces of stars motorway of answers ..... .. .... . ....running you down like cars.. ....... .. awkward abstract worry not of this for a brain is well wired deliberately hit and miss scramble of words and phrases made up of whims and fancy no logic trip up mazes difficult to read I haven't thought of barrier of processing speed just write anyway for predictable order is a death of a sort perfection the hellish dull of absence of thought no gaps to fill nor need for more (I've just heard there's Shetland Ponies at the farm... It's all I ever needed, I'm off, forget angst poetry ha!)