I'm feeling like the weather's too cold, and the sky's not the right hue of blue.
I'm feeling as if everyone's hushed conversation is still to loud, and my music couldn't possibly be louder.
I'm feeling like your admiration is far too much, but yet not enough.
I'm feeling like I'll be stuck here forever, and the seat I'm in is far too uncomfortable.
I'm feeling far too tired to continue this poem, but I know this isn't the right way to end it.