It fixates on bitter and sweet uncertainties, flips and tosses and over-examines and -analyzes words spoken–all their sanguine implications and somber insinuations. And I ponder over chance encounters which seem so haphazard and effervescent at the moment but which with time will probably take on some semblance of fate. Or not. I’ve lost my handle on me, on the lot of you, on life.
No rest, maybe I’m wicked.
I’d so very much like to be in control again.