But can you read it in my body language, the overflowing pressure gauge,
Like something’s about to blow?
My anxiety, triggered silently, when you speak; I fall below.
It’s not you. Trust me. It’s not you.
Honestly true, just me, nothing new.
But can you feel it?
Can you see it in my eyes? Maybe hear it in my voice?
Maybe see it in my hands as they sweat by no choice.. of my own..
… alone …
You’re here; talking. I hear mocking.
Not in your words, or even your tone;
But in the voice in my head, which I’m prone to condone..
… alone …
“Stop blowing holes in my ship!”
I yell at my crew, as they unload a clip.
A round of bullets, shot straight through;
The mutiny aboard my mind.
This panic anew. The heart skip, tongue slip, I’m drowning.
My boat quickly sinks, in the ink on the page,
As my skull deeply thinks, in the loll of it’s cage :
Your misinterpretation of my total misconception
Of the total imperfection of my ‘horrible impression’
A confession of depression from my no doubt flawed perception
Teach myself a lesson.
General conversation shouldn’t strike an ill sensation.
Depression takes it’s tole
Compression of my soul.
…Don’t stop talking. This is good for me, right?
These words keep stalking my conscience at night.
You can’t hear me, it echoes within.
You’ve done nothing wrong, but patience is thin.
I do not like to feel this way.
If normal was an option, I’d be it today.
So please keep talking, I’ll learn to survive.
My eyes just blocking, the demons inside; alive.
But to whatever you’ll say..