Am I erring to be so forward,
To speak before I am spoken to?
Is it a fault to give freely information
Even when one does not request?
Do I chafe so, on people’s nerves?
It must be so.
There are no other plausible explanations.
My mind is askew, from the normal tracks.
I take my own way,
I make my own way.
Yet I cannot help but feel defective, out of place
In this urbanized society
With its fast moving people;
I feel in the way.
If one does deign to share light banter
With a rusty heart like mine,
They look into my eyes
They speak their few words
And then
Suddenly
No goodbye.
No more words for a worn out soul
Whose worn-out soles squeeze their grimy feet.
I guess my words do no fit with theirs.
No more time.
No more words.
No goodbye.