Eighth blog entry - Tea bag realizations and questions.

Tw: Eating disorder implications, yet it is open for interpretation.

Nourishing myself is what I custom to do, sleepy eyes of peace accompany me within oh thee beaded virgin affliction.

Olive I, come to sit on a rather squeaky dubitable enduring chair, an excruciatingly strident room, and an odious scent, mixture of some kind at least. 
There are six people, four plates, two mouths merry to dine the lunch. 
The spot before me is empty, though I meant for it to be occupied I may not have anything to fill it, and myself, with. Haha! Note engraved on cutaneous of cranial carnal dreams, do not forget your responsibilities with thy self. 

Three comments, three worded phrases or paragraphs, I listen with my eyes, I taste them with my hands, nostrils shall observe, and I retreat in disgust.

How dare they?
How dare they make laughter of death dilemma worriments moreover the diminishing condition of bodies who have fought to subordinately subsist? 
How dare ego-self centrist one torture thy-selves, as a joke treat disputes as mercenarily each cell of aphorised bodies battle the mentioned un-menaced Trojan Horse constructed by the Epeius of their minds?
I stop in my horse-shoe horned tracks, I grow silent, root into myself.

Perchance, the odd one I may be, out of swinging for wishing to recover, for not crampingly cackling at shared agony, for foreseeingly dramatizing and not romanticizing; yet it makes my mind cry, my eyes dry, my mouth heaves as well since heaven allows not to get myself to mutter a single word.

I grow nauseous. Is everyone truly sick? Is the poetic demise I write and dream about everyone’s faith with no wish or way to escape?Did I accidentally just pop a fantasy bubble of mine? As far as I had, along with have, been aware, healthy and happy people must and do exist, did at least, should at most.

Happy as thee momentary situation. 

Healthy, as the glee to live.

People who do not make me anguish, heart throb, I do not know if I have met any; perhaps my brother, yes may be maybe; but I could be the problem, the sensible sensitive senescent one. The crystal cup pup of a drunk, who lamentably came back to its seed essence, with a smile on his cheeks, cackle on his arm, smashed and crushed the glass against the countertop. 

The ring bells and the bells ring, time’s up, yet I just can’t get up. 
Should I run from what I’ve built, the people I have learnt to meet?
I wish to laugh, giggle, thus far, I cannot, torment storms envelop and develop for me; how odd, I thought I did not care.

Conundrum of today, what else can I say.

With the message of tuesday date, overly thinking, Ceibot.