Mad

I'm imputing, cogitating, and disputing. My head is penetrated by the fuss.

Resembling to weep like an outrageous mortal,
or maybe I'm too knotty?

I prefer to be abandoned rather than to be blissful.

Envy.
Intense Hostility.
I don't know what do I really feel.

I know that I'm sensible ... sometimes odd.
There's a clamor in my heart.
Pushing me to be remorseful.
I should be calm and placid but I'm assertive.

Do you know what am I trying to deem?

Nothing.

I can't be dead to the world.

Am I too pompously literary?
or
I just demand to feel the affection that I'm probing for.