If I were to attempt to talk to you,

I'm sure the wrong thing would come out.

I speak in riddles and mysterious phrases,

That the normal person finds to be undecipherable

From the gibberish uttered by madmen and infants.

If I were to try and express how I feel,

I'm sure that I would mess it up.

My mind is filled with twisting hallways and deep caverns.

My mask of normality prevents me

From being the passionate fool that I am.

If I were to try and kiss you,

I'm sure you would hate me.

I sometimes cannot see beyond my own selfish desires.

I do not wish to be hated, only regarded for who I am.

Because I certainly cant change that.

My one escape in this tortured world is to dream of you.

At least there I wont

Say the wrong thing,

Mess it up,

Or be hated.

It is in those dreams that I find myself to be the happiest,

That is until the sand is cleared from my eyes,

And I realize that none of it was real.

So I carry the deeply engrained memories of things that never happened,

To torture me,

And carry me,

Through a long and impatient day,

Unproductive,

Because I yearn only to drift silently back unto the slumber again.

It's a pity that night is so brief.