Self Forsaken

  He stared pensively at the cracked plaster ceiling. Ten toes twiddled impatiently, as if trying to arouse the attention of their deeply distraught maestro. He remained unmoved; undaunted. The dedicated dectet began thrashing so insistently that ankles and calfs were obliged to join this curious muscular cacaphony; his whole spasmatic anatomy, screeching again and again, each and every variation of it's perennial, and primal theme:
  " Why hast thou forsaken me. It is I, your body, who is your salvation; not your deranged daydreams; not  your rancid  reveries. Abandon that barren mine, that veinless quarry. Arise with me; run and  jump, dance and sing. I am not yet ready for dreamless sleep; that hideous brand of cheerless sleep, to which your limp and impotent thoughts subject me".
  "listen! listen! I sing the song of life; precisely the song you seek, and need. I AM the song. I am YOU!"
  And yet, he continued staring upward, seeminly oblivious to this raucus; prefering to accept these anatomic tics as just another example of his perfidious and pernicious fate.
  After a time, he sighed  feebly and rolled over, not knowing what else to do.