I’ve known never everything about myself, and acceptance is conflicting. From my earliest memories I can recall me drifting. I felt loved and unknown, a confused confusion. I guess I spent to much time alone.
Time it seems was my first plague; as my innate selfish consumption for a whole and balanced existence wrestled for control. Time is, and all others must conform.
All others seem distant, I was verily there. I could easily too disappear. My distance will plague you.
As for the plagues that slow me down, there are a few; and they’ve even tried to kill me too.
And then there are my allergies, blood group predispositions, personal beliefs:
Not too much citrus or protein
Not too red blood cell enriching food
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
…okay maybe I don’t enjoy writing about myself.
I do know I love hair, and it plagues me that mine is as he is. Alas my whole temple is extreme.