A Passing Thought

In complete truth,

The days continue their endless cycle of darkness. The trees aren't exactly doing anything anymore. They just seem to stand themselves still, watching me at every step I take. And during this, I assume the sun has little respect for me, for where I seem to be going. Boredom is something that never falls quickly, but is true until the last sliver of it has been defeated. As it is with annoyance, and muted frustration.
Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of growing morbid,
pupils black, hands to claws.
But as every new day dawns I seem to feel the beginning of something slightly nauseating, though you could call it dizzying, or as far as sickening.
With every hour, I feel myself getting older. Minutes transform into days, and days being years.
Every time the sun lays itself to sleep, a year has passed. And although it's not good, but I couldn't really call it unenjoyable, either.
After this, I am continuingly realizing that marking age feels strange. After all, sometimes I feel three, while others I'm more than twenty.
All I know is that it's all somewhat confusing, if I try to care very hard anyway.
Meh.

Nevermind.