I think too much,
much too much,
that I know;
guilt, sadness, worry all wash over me
and yet I am decidedly
content
I present myself as thoughtful
yet happy and if anything,
a bit dull
at the minute,
i'm running away from my head,
from my dreams,
from my plaguing personality,
rotting away at those I love,
let me tell you something,
there's a place I'd like to be right now,
and it's alone,
with my fingers and toes and inner thighs just
tingling.
this is shoddy but I am shoddy