Bleak and Vibrance

Wasted Evening

     I'm currently on floor of my room, back against a pile of laundry while sipping warm chamomile tea.
I'd like rolling thunder overhead and a light shower falling from the heavens for this irritable mood from which I wish to be set free.

     My body feels like a husk. Noiseless and empty, while my head brews and teems with ugly thoughts of failed bonds, fortune out of my grasp, and a chemical anxiety for the day yet to come.
     What shoved me into such a foul mood, I have yet to discover for my own, though an answer I demand. I desire something to uplift me-- a distraction. However, I'm perturbed that I fail to feel wholesome.

     I should sleep and wisk the day away, but the morning will bring but only far worse events.
     I found the words-- a wasted evening. And the reason why, I still have yet to find it's sense.

     And all I know is hate.