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.
There’s a long story behind this one, and I’m lazy Bc it’s 12:30 am. Sorry if you wanted to know. Relatable? Idk.