I marvel at my capacity to utterly moan.
I can winge and winge, spilling it all out.
Happily feeding my poor me syndrome.
I take a deep breath and out it all flows,
Story after story – nothing left to chance.
A messy, great heap of hopeless woes.
I’m shocked by my ability to so truly bore,
To drone on and on, without a single pause,
Even when nobody is listening anymore!