Safety in numbers is the phrase.
But it is in numbers that I never feel safe.
Instead, I feel scared, frightened, and afraid;
The pretense of being someone who doesn't pretend is too much to take.
When I find lonely hollows and run,
My mind spirals and changes social action
Into a harrowing experience of nightmares and faux pass
That, despite my hallowed heart, I cannot quite escape.
Solitude and softness free my mind,
The trap is anxiety and pressure,
A million hands, a million directions,
To go this way or that way.
But in isolation, the voices sound,
The misery shivers its way up my spine,
And vices wrap around my soul like vines,
I am the error, the glitch, and the fool.
Safety in numbers is the phrase,
But lonely hollows better suit this goal,
With solititude and softness to wear away the stress,
However, isolation brings up the dark.
So I write terrible poetry that pales
In comparison to the emotional fate
Of a faithful, aching soul,
Who is lost along the waves.