Come,  sit down beside me, and do tell,
Is a book on Agnosticism non-fiction, as well?
Let's choose a book of literary spells,
Let's go to the library to dwell,
Let's spread the word of literacy,
Billions of people need to read,
Thoughts, ideas and opinions for free,
Would you classify --isms as fiction?
Is a book of Agnosticism non-fiction?
Is Atheism a true creed?
Fabulous negativity, Kafkas, prithee,
Come sit down beside me, let's read.

Solitude?
My breath still fights for the taste of resin.
This sweet complacent home.
Solitude?
The crest mint wraps the tounge in lies.
I stare, hungry, at my phone.
Solitude?
"What did you say?"
Shrieks pierce my eardrums.
Solitude?
"Go away!"
The silence ensues.
Solitude?
"What do you mean?!"
It's nothing new.

Certain days planned to be eventful
I look forward to for weeks, setting
and characters, and the work days march forward
toward the horrible or pleasurable
and the day comes, it comes without hesitating or hurrying
although I hurry and hesitate
and when it is here, going by
during my hesitation or hurry did I
think what I wanted to ask?

People don't know what each other are thinking,
Unless they see it out loud.
People don't know what I am think,
Unless I say it out loud.
Not even then I will say what I am thinking,  
I will just say nothing,
Or just tell a lie.
Don't go by the first thing you hear,
Ask a question,
Figure it out

It's my day at home today
And people ask what I will do
But I turn to them and tell them
That I really do not know

Well I'll wake up in the morning
Feeling like I've had no rest
And the fear that lies within me
Will rise and constrict my chest
But I'll stand up and be counted
I'll work hard, I'll try my best
And if you're lucky then I might even get dressed.

It's my day at home today
Some people say I work too much
But if they want me to socialise
Why don't they keep in touch?

Still I'll sit at home and surf the web
And text them from my room
And I'll look at pictures on the net
Of people on the moon
Sing **** the ashcloud with Miss Palmer
She'll be Mrs Gaiman soon
And if you're lucky then I might just pen a tune.

It's my day at home today
And people ask me why I'm here
I say that's because I have no plans
I play my life by ear

But it's doing me OK so far
I'm living with it well
Even if sometimes it can feel like
A flaming pit of hell
Still I'm learning and I'm trying
Poking out beneath my shell
And if you're lucky and you're good then I won't tell.

It's my day at home today
Sometimes people ask me why
I shut myself in yet seem so strong
And never, ever cry

And I tell them that I'm happy
And that's why I don't look sad
And I try my best to help them out
When they are feeling bad
But they don't know what I cannot say
That I've been driven mad
And if they're lucky then they will not understand.

It's my day at home today
And some people ask me why
I prefer to sit behind a screen
And watch the world go by

I say the phantom of the opera
Composed in a secret place
For he never wished the light of day
To fall upon his face
Even if I'm sat behind a pane
I'm running my own race
And if you're lucky I might let you keep the pace.

It's my day at home today
And people ask what I will do
But I'll turn to them and tell them
That it all depends on you.

“Is this what friendship
With her looks like?”
I ask myself.

“Ignore and pray.”
I tell myself.

“Maybe I’m just tired.”
I tell myself.

“Shut up and move on.”
I tell myself.

“She doesn’t like you;
She’s just being herself.”
I tell myself.

“What the hell am I
Thinking?”
I ask myself.