Social Anxiety Poem by Sketcher Ridpath

I'm not hungry, I'm hurting,
This isn't nonsense I'm spurting,
Eye contact is averting,
My body is reverting back,
Into my organic shell,
When they begin to scream and yell,
I must've went off and fell,
Down the deep hole that leads to hell,
Where demons tend to dwell and,
All of the events smell fishy,
You're either high or tipsy,
You go from itchy to dizzy,
Couldn't see you were tricky,
The atmosphere is Misty or,
I just won't open my eyes,
If I do then I'll see some guys,
That stab me and hear my cries,
Then I wake as my ego dies,
I can see through your lies now,
Now my vision is all clear up,
Please stop, just slow down, hold up,
There's no need for you to speed up,
At this pace you will blow up,
You're too far ahead, back up, stop,
My girl don't dance to my bop,
But she is one I cannot drop,
Although my love is nonstop,
I can't direct it to a spot,
Love is the root of my depression,
Creates joy as well as aggression,
Mainly sadness because suppression,
Of having a physical session,
Definitely to my discretion,
Obviously there's no possession,
I need love to be my expression,
If my body is the impression,
Then all my heart is in secession,
This will be my final confession,
Though might be beyond comprehension.