I've picked up this book
on one of my manic days
one of my can't-sleep-and-need-to-control-the-panic days
it's called the half-empty something or other
there's a nicely sentimental human heart beating on the cover
maybe it's not beating, but I need to think so anyway
I need it to take all of my troubles away
all of my faults and indiscretions
and, if you please, my vast and drowning imperfections
I've picked it up with the solitary intention
of identifying with each and every symptom 
this book is on a subject called chronic discontent
low-grade depression, dysthymia, and lack of sentiment
I read it and rather than gaining healing clarity
I gain nothing more than a hidden portrait of humanity.