Clocks

It is with much chagrin that I note the remarks 'you look tired' and 'I bet you didn't sleep last night' has become a most conventional, most banal part of my day. It isn't as if I'm portraying a helpless harlequin with resolved purpose, announcing with dances and flashing lights of my physique's abysmality. If anything, I'm partial to regard my reflection and ask of it the same question, with added exasperation on the fact that if not a picture of blooming health, could it be a little bit more stoic? The objective of these musings choose to remain arcane.

I suspect we all have our phases. *press to play.
I wonder if I am simply just consumed with anger, and the energy required to suppress this vat of volcanic emotion is draining.