Bad liver and a broken heart

Waking up from a lousy dream hits differently. Something is clearly wrong with my body, its physiology. The last time I have encountered this is through anxiety brought on by emotional trauma, and I despise it, it makes me seem weak in hindsight.

Three people in a day, two simultaneously in the morning dooting my bells. It kind of hits differently. It kind of makes you not want to miss the one that is actually missing, for me the only one that truly matters. But it is already lost and would not want to be found. No matter how much I frolic like a dweeb at the sight of those doots, it matters very little when the purpose of it is inconsequential. I do not like it when things mean nothing. Why do I have to prove a concept like love while they simply have to just accept it? Every piece I give is one taken away from me. It takes its toll, and the payment is meagre, almost uncharacteristically and comically minute. It is trifling, because I do want reciprocity to be equal in its value. It never is.

Eventually I had to ignore two of the three, so I am left with one. This one one is not so bad, if a little unpredictable. But if it was predictable it would have been a dull affair. Slowly by day something buds, but ultimately I fear that this too is an utter waste of time, and technically I have known this flower even longer than the one I actually chose, the one I liked. But the one I like is not as keen as I hoped it to be.

Let it be known that I burn my own self for gratification every single day.

I still have an hour or two to perform a little something, perhaps a small ritual prior to a return to form. Or maybe I can just settle for a good old hand signal and a bottle of brew. Not really my thing. My mind indecent needs more room to hone, and hone it shall, and hone it must, for the next few days will be content.