waxing gibbous

I feel that awareness of me being in a play though I’m not, The Malcontent, partly as discontent but also in such terms I suddenly evaluate every occurrence of a peculiarity in my social surrounding. Everything stands clear and hatred ends up being, needless to say, my enigma. Visually, do you wrap my decrepit sadness? Obviously something else. I form the thought of everyone else before me. What should I say, don’t dare think in front of me (no!). I feed on the enigma and I feel that being a necessity in this given situation.

Riddle for today. Waxing Gibbous, close the moon or not, anything obnoxious I dwell. What am I?