I fear a great many things,
None so severe as the feeling itself.

But it's a self fulfilling circle of hating myself more then I did yesterday,

And I can't tell if it's anxiety or courage that makes me stay away from any and all who I could bother with my misplaced stumbling and mumbling through what others call conversation.

I never know how long to pause or how long I'm aloud to gather my thoughts,

And words are hard, In the spoken sense because with nearly everyone I meet there's a sense of urgency.

Like we're the last two people in the world and they have somewhere more important to be,
So I let them.

If they want to rush through the vast cosmos of thought then I let them,
I let them walk by and I don't say a word because words are hard
And I'd rather spend time with the abstract concepts that tear like a twister through my mind as if being painfully real and a pleasant fairy tale at the very same time.

And this isn't a puff peace to make you feel something like this person I am is someone to be pittied or looked down on.

Words are hard because I don't quite see the point,

Talk is cheap, it can be found anywhere, it spills from our lips like liquid fools gold,

I'm no fool.