Jane Delahunty - A Sulkin'

When you are unhappy, child, O you solemn stubbornity, awkward unfortunate, you repel kindness and concerned enquiry. You dark and dull lows are inkblotts on the otherwise unblemished page of youth. Now your exhausted tears are average and humdrum in the offended and uncaring eyes of your ancient, worn companions. They shall not extend their warm love beyond their merry and righteous circles that you have so ungracefully shrugged from your reach. Do you want to be consoled? Do you ask for unfaltering sympathy? Blind-Eye acceptance? Of course you now realise those systematic errors, but on which occasion? The third? The fourth? Not the last. Yes, you and I have sung this tune before.
Woe. Idiocy. Regret.
Idiocy! For you are a fool, and eleven types of arse. you stagnant social leper, self-destroying prisoner. You, unnappreciative queen, unsatisfied beggar. Hideous untruth, miserable love. You have only a mirror to pound, your own body to break. You summon dispute, you create unhappiness, You brought this on yourself.

Jane Delahunty

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