rigamarole

I spend the morning

picking petals off a daisy.

she loves me, she loves me not.
then I switch over
to I hate her, I wished i'd never
met her.

obviously, I've lost my mind.

what do to about that.
I ponder the prospects.

be alone, see out the string of years
in a blissful state of
solitude
and quiet,

or find someone and go through that
whole rigamarole again.

I look up the word rigamarole,
to see if it's an actual word.
apparently it is, but i'm not using
it in exact definition
of the word.

I don't care.

I flip a coin. peace and tranquility,
heads.

or another possible nightmare
relationship?
tails.

I flip it high into the air
and wait for it to land in my hand...