Reach into the nothingness
Like a warm breath slipping into the cold night
Hands outward, eyes open, upwards towards the sky

Embrace the silent subtle voice
Which hides behind the daily routines
But is no less mindfully alive

Cast images onto the fog itself
Until you've seen the many dreams which you've procured for yourself
In this cloudy life

Breathe with the forgetfulness of evey waking step  
As you amble through these miles set
With jawline firm and eyeline slight

Smile at the passing sight of another universe in tow
Which ambles by and out of view
As your inward story comes alive

And live not in line with every Crow on any high wire
But fly as if there were no tomorrow in your quiet sigh
Upwards and towards the sky

Ring the bell
A teller steps up to the counter
"How may I help you today?"
Well
You could calm my doubts
You could ease my worries
You could tell me why
I feel always in a hurry
You could explain,
Why I hate my own name
You could give me a mirror,
That shows me who I really am
Or......

If you could, please, just direct me to the isle with the discounted ham.

What is that sound?
tick tick, tick tock.
It’s really quite odd,
I don’t own a clock.

It’s ninety one past thirteen,
wait, that can’t be right.
Time for another pill,
medicinal light.

Just smile, and nod,
until your cheeks hurt.
Now laugh, pull it back,
compliment their new shirt.

It’s orange, no it’s red,
**** what is that hue?
What do you mean it’s white?
It’s ******* pastel blue.

Now throw out a joke,
and some proper context.
Good job, you failed,
like an impotent sext.

You’re talking too loud,
oh Jesus, shut up.
How much have you drank?
Really? One cup?!

Finger guns now,
and a smooth exit we go.
Ya that wasn’t awkward,
you nailed it, fo sho.

Quiet.
Cold.
Wet.
Comfortable.
Intimate.

My hiding place.
My thinking spot.
My living room.
My secret space.
My worn out thoughts.
My ridiculous emotions.

Nature's trees.
Pond's ripples
Duck's quacks.
Cloud's shapes.
Heaven's rays.

Sitting.
Thinking.
Feeling.
Learning.
Reading.
Crying.
Laughing.

I do it all here.

I am like a roller coaster
A twisted creaky track
Taking you on my ups and downs
Never holding back
Looping through the disarray
Of an introverted maniac

You hit that final drop
Around the last bend
Then to a full force stop
Some will have fun with me
Others maybe not
But in the end,
They all well get off
And leave me without a thought

I am like a roller coaster
A twisted creaky track
Behold the out of service sign
Sorry, no more riders.
I'm now completely wracked

The saying goes: "there is no place like home."
But what is home to the poor, lonely souls?
Are they destined to eternally roam,
searching, but never achieving their goals?

The ostracized accept their solitude;
there is nothing else for them to receive.
When they attempt to give, their gifts are crude;
the world has taught them to always deceive.

There is no place for the introverted
among those who keep their eyes averted.