I’m feeling bland and somewhat out of sorts.
Recovered now, I do not understand.
I’m like a gem that’s really made of quartz.
I’m feeling bland.

My health improves; I ought to put my hand
to tasks deferred, and yet my mood retorts —
I’d rather not do anything I planned.

My energy is low. My will supports
no exercise or writing. A demand
to do just agitates and then aborts.
I’m feeling bland.


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