“Fruits of over-thoughtfulness”

 

 

Even to my best of friends,

I couldn't talk.

Because of the thought,

They might;

Walk,

While I sulk.

I rather stitch My mouth,

Than to disturb,

the only person, I want

To converse with.

I am not solo,

Have solitude got my 

Back, when tired;

As all my plans got,

 back-fired.

 

 

What if all my companions are

secret espers,

And coping with me,

After knowing my 

secret whispers.

Of course, they hate me

Despise me

But act around me

Just to laugh at me

And make a fool out of me

After I slowly flee;

 no hope glimmers

To be 

Naturally happy.

 

 

 

Just like the short-sighted

Need correction glasses,

Not a tightened

blinding cloth.

I will turn blind

eye to the imaginary masses,

I created in mind

 without senses,

To win conquests,

Which actually exists.

 

What I need is

Honest lines,

To faces;

Indifference or loathe,

Or anything better,

Which I love to hear

From the people ,

In my close sphere.

 

Protest or detest,

I digest,

With will of fire,

In the imaginary world,

the situations dire,

I go rest and

Retire,

as my mental peace

In my reach. 

                  -Geardy