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The Howls of my Mind
This basically just details the inner workings of my writer's mind.
I feel her, running beneath my skin. Her fur is silky, and it feels almost sensual. She's angry, and I feel that too. My fists clench, and I'm restless. I could be going mad, but I don't think that I am. I can think, so surely, this isn't madness. I wonder why she is so angry. Was it the people? Was it the surroundings? Perhaps it was her exclusion. I cannot answer these because she isn't speaking to me.

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