The fear drives home, at night.
All my pretences labeled "progress" and "change" fade,
leaving me bare and suckling to a smoky nipple called "hope".
You grin at my anxiety, but it's a thin grin.
It's there, you know, in your head.
Ever been stopped on a street full of people by an overwhelming feeling of isolation?
Ever sat on a bus of fifty, stifling a scream that aches to fill the silence?
Ever seen a stupid person to a dumb thing for an idiotic reason, and it not touch you at all?
Our present learning has far outstripped our understanding.
I lay there, bewildered and assailed by unfiltered, raw information.
I lack an angle, a filter, something to make sense for me.
Fear the grins, the people with no fear.