Thursday, December 1
It's really a D-isappointment.
And so it is.
Days are rushed and nights, fretful.
If destined as such my paths are laid, then deny no more the error of my way.
I have since swallowed the bitter pill of a wayward style.
The onus has been lost for good.
This funny, little thing called happiness is nothing.
I rather remain stoic for a lesser hassle.
But for now, I have to contend the night away with heart pangs, attributed to a mish-mash of guilt, sadness and indignance. I feel horrible, and I can't guess for how long will such a phase last. I take minimal comfort in knowing that perhaps, I would never recognise sweetness apart from this bitter pill... ... or these bitter pills.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 1:06 AM