Have you ever been
So painfully aware
Of your presence in the world
To the point where glances are like knives
And conversation, cyanide?
Just kill me now.
I want nothing more but to hide
To crawl away and avoid
The day-to-day interactions
Which, ironically, will be my salvation
For eventually, I will come out of my shell
And I will come to realize
The world isn’t so mean
Until then, on the inside, I scream.