Who cares

Your tepid favour not really warming to the thought. There's no alchemy with which to distil a retort. Comfort is a stretch, lack the agility to contort. Best I seem to manage is a tireless distraught. I'm lonely, saves me being an affliction. My discomfort puts others in an awkward position. How timely, seemed an effortless decision. Left me having trouble remedying this condition. This bitter flavour, sick having to savour such rancid after-taste. Try to draw conclusions from the mess I have retraced. Pointless seeking why it's this position I've been placed. Now all I'll be to you a gap in memory, erased.