I sit still every day,
Well I mean my mind does,
Anticipating for things
that may not ever come.

My social anxiety has
Twisted it’s venomous
Thorned rose around my
Otherwise unsullied mind,
Poisoning it, cursing it,
Making it unable to communicate,
Having me draw immense suffering
From the excruciation of socialization.
But yet it gives me intensified
deprivation of such activities.

Sometimes I wait for what will never come,
And with each passing minute,
The thorns grow larger as well as sharper,
Getting a larger hold on my ****** up mind.