Lost Book. Lost Soul

Lost Book. Lost Soul.

I just lost a book. I must have left it at the restaurant. I was quite upset because I really liked it. Now I have to order it again from Amazon. I just have to be more careful. I am getting absent-minded.

But a lost book does not mean much, especially if it can be replaced. All I suffered was some annoyance and a paltry sum of money. But a lost soul is a vastly different matter, particularly when I am so fucking delusional and blind that I would not know that I have lost it. I am a coward but I fancy that I am full of common sense, thinking  that if I stick my neck out for Vietnam, that would not do me any good. I am a liar but I don't admit that to myself, and yet I ironically and perversely accused a guy who is brash but very well known for his honesty and respect of facts and truths of being a liar. I made a fool of myself because the accused guy diligently dug up facts and showed to all my friends and acquaintances alike that I was indeed a shameless, brazen liar and a piece of shit. So what do you think who I am? I am just a croak of stinking shit, that's what and who I am. I have an appearance of a human but a heart of a pig and a mind of a rat. I am what you could call human trash and rotten garbage. I, together with my friends and allies, should be in shot down and exterminated like pests and vermin.