I wilt
Slowly perishing under my mask made of smooth silk. Grasping for control
To make peace
And let my ashes settle.
Condemned beneath my skin
Scorched by boiling blood.
Eager, yearning for acceptance.
My timid mind plastered by paranoia,
Ingulfed with fright and pitiful confidence.
Head spinning
People looking
Thoughts crazed.
The silence outside settles
And begins to deafen.

(C)