It’s true. I am scared right to the bone, through and through. I tremble at the drop of a hat and my knees can barely hold me up. I live on a knife edge ready to fall to my doom and gloom at a moment’s notice. Living in a deep, dark closet gives me the sense of security without which my very being would disintegrate at the slightest ray of intimidation. I am not a man but a boy cloaked in costume fit for neither prince nor pauper. Lost and alone I wander the world regretting my very existence, destitute in purpose or plan, encapsulated in a bubble filled with frightened chickens excitedly and determinedly seeking an exit. Because there is no way out of my own torment there is not life for me but for the dead and the dying. Moving among the sheep I hide, forever furtively on the lookout for the wolf in sheep’s clothing ready to pounce upon my person with ill regard for rhyme or reason. Cowering, I walk softly and quietly through life ever fearful of a misplaced step or stumble. Shying away from interaction I am diseased with the thought of slighting, offending or displeasing anyone and everyone. As a slave to mankind I am but a lowly pawn worthy of little and deserving of nothing. The only hope I have is of living a life which is pleasing to all. In failure all I can do is ‘give up’ and not just ‘play dead’ but be dead.
I am not here if it pleases you.