So damned awkward
That I cannot even admit
To myself
What is happening
At any time
Because I might be wrong.

Not at all confident
Of any success
In anything
The urge to drink and sleep and
Just to be more forthright
What did this to me?

Was it a thousand years of guilt and melancholy
Or was it just three months of concentrating
On something more important?

Sometimes it is so difficult to cope
With paranoia, awkwardness
Intensity and such acute frustration
Sometimes it's really not a good idea
To speak to me
On the street
Because I might be running away