Paranoia

I am afraid

I hide.

The world is too wide.

My stomach churning while my hands I'm writhing.

Fear of height, fear of critics.

Fear of love and fear of heists.

Sunlight glimmer through my imprisoning window, inviting me to bathe in its glorious shimmer.

It awaits me with the patience of a fisher.

I pace back and forth and forth and back.

Under my sleeves is my comfort.

Deafening voices I hear in my head.

Poisonous like a bar of lead.

Shall I conquer it or shall I take my med?

The voices so distant, so warped, so pathetic.

They are crying.

Sometimes I think they are my own.

My past haunts me, and present itself cannot tame the flame of my anxiety.

No matter how much I try to camouflage myself in society.

My life feels empty.

I seek help from the piety.

All they say is that my life is filthy.

I seek for a world that does not judge.

A world that sees past my past.

And a first impression that does not last.

A world where I am not an outcast.

'The future is bright' they say; but how can I have a bright future if they keep looking at my shadowy past?

Yes I admit it is- it was.

My vigilant ears catch their whispers.

They're everywhere and anywhere.

I hide my face where my past is clearly etched.

The sunlight dims as if it has given up on me.

Darkness envelopes me once again.

Silent tears, that dammed up through the years fall piercingly on my cheeks as I let go of the door handle- the key to the outside world, and surrender once again to the pestiforous paranoia.