it's all true, yet all exaggerated
Nov. 21st, 2005 07:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaeclecticFeverish today, probably should have stayed home.
Sadness has blurred into physical unwellness, impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.
I am swamped by a helpless futile childish yearning to be taken care of, to have someone hold me and comfort me and magically make it all better.
Nothing satisfices.
Self-pity is graceless. I do not forgive myself for it.
Still and all: there is some satisfaction in honing the words. Yes, think of this as poetry.
Sadness has blurred into physical unwellness, impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.
I am swamped by a helpless futile childish yearning to be taken care of, to have someone hold me and comfort me and magically make it all better.
Nothing satisfices.
Self-pity is graceless. I do not forgive myself for it.
Still and all: there is some satisfaction in honing the words. Yes, think of this as poetry.