And here is a poem by Graham Foust, to make me feel better.
POEM WITH SIDE EFFECT
Every recollection - from the smallest, most in-
significant jangle of trash to watching
someone care for machines to fan-blade
shadows of blood-begins
as a secret. (That's the truth, and of course
I can't prove it; I think I mean what I don't
want to say.) But why's the dull tangle of denial
half of life? Lying's lonely-to lie
alone is least as good. And I'm over here, keeping
split, requiring assembly. Forget weeping.
Get silent. My lack of desire says hi.