I can't breathe.
The air is extricated from
my lungs by their
vacant, judgemental
stares and their obscene
words litter my skin
like the paint
that splattered my pink flesh
as I tried to paint you
a picture of what
this feels like.

No amount of water
could cleanse the feeling
of the tense atmosphere that
clouds my vision
as if I were a wingless airplane
flying on a foggy night, but
I'm not a flight you want
to take home tonight.

And I know you see
my straightened back
as another entity proceeds
2 feet too close into my
personalaized hell.

Turn away.
Pretend you don't see anything.

For acknowledging my
social anxiety doesn't
relieve me.

It causes me to be
more anxious than before.