Meeting a stranger,
striking a conversation with a stranger,
(but not necessarily with strangers);
My mind transpires
Into a prickly thread of vapour,
constituting thoughts, fancies (fears)
in the thick shape of droplets.
My nerves swelter
beneath the coals of judgement
of others but honestly, my own.
And you can’t shake a sweat
That you can’t touch, but only feel.
So why does this mental grease
that oozes through my being,
take such command over my state
Is THIS the only fate?
“Why can’t i be this.
Urgh, why can’t i act cool”
I guess very often it’s my downfall
But ever so rarely this sticky film reminds-
We all sweat. Get over it.
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