I think too much, this I have always known
for to live alone in solitude, one is blessed with thoughts as companions.

And perhaps this is optimal:
my thoughts do not mutter harsh words behind my back or even to my face
but comfort me in soothing tones like strokes
and sing-song verses that hug the walls of my mind pleasantly

My thoughts choose to show me beauty,
instead of the stark rawness of the world outside the frames of my head
they've conversed amongst themselves
of the sleek sheen of wetness on lemon leaves after a morning shower
or when they are most inspired,
of the smooth gradient of sky swathed by sunset
and allow me to watch it all, a front-row ticket to their splendid imaginings

Always, they will sigh contently at art and literature
and then feast wildly in the presence of knowledge
They accumulate bits of information like starving kittens,
so eager are they, I am left breathless

(There certainly are much worse points to them too,
but my thoughts threaten me so, in silence, I'll refrain.)