I could be talkative if I wanted to
but I worry that I might say the wrong thing
or say too much
or be annoying
I don't want to be annoying or too much
I don't want to burden people with
spewing words out
I don't want them to feel obligated to listen
so instead I shut my mouth
and become the quiet kid
therefore I won't be bothersome

I am the king of a crumbling castle,
a hassle to hold but I'm old and I'm scared
of the bold young world that sits around me
surrounding my vision, emissions of life
like entities born in flame, that drift astray
from parents ensnared in the glare of a television screen.

The Dungeon           Calls
The Dungeon           sings
In wincing                tones
of wicked                  things,
the entrance             looms
The doorway's          dead
The wailing               wins
and claims your head.

You run away,
you don't look back.
You know what's peeking through the cracks.
Not one to bare the light of day.
It waits, beyond
while you decay.

The Dungeon howls.
The dungeon's sweet.
The dungeon send you off to sleep.

It's safe, this place
where you reside.
Out there you fear
sunlight collides
with ghastly skin
and telling eyes
so let them get on
with their lives.

Understanding but
Not really feeling, the need
Others have when they
Absolutely cannot be
Without someone else around.