Being an Introvert,
Doesn't mean being aloof nor rude
It is rather an art of living....alone
Our shyness is mistaken for insolence
And our being alone for having an attitude
Our trusted companion(mind) gives all the company that is needed
It fills us with thoughts so deep,
Another would drown in them
Feeling are so pure,
Angels would bow down to them

I want to escape,
from this hellhole of a cell
The bars make it hard to breath,
The air stinks of blood and the jailers wrath
They do not seem to notice my constant torment,
I hide my tears,
Cursing myself for being weak
I fear my weakness will only bring them pleasure
So.....
I wait....and wait.....for the day
When I can cry till my hearts content.