Thoughts of social anxiety, minor depression
I don't know who you are, only you do.
I bought new shoes today, but they don't fit
my feet, only yours.
I wake up to the great days, bright skies, no worries.
I read your messages,
and then it hits me.
Do you, mystery person,
just say what you think I want to hear?
say things that inadequately try and
give me hope?
Do you call to procrastinate yourself
and see me as wasteable time?
Do you realize when I say things,
I mean them?
Do you ever mean it?
Do I mean anything?
About the shoes...
Take a walk in them.
Answer all of the questions.
--because, mystery man...
I don't need you to identify yourself...
If the shoes already fit.