there's no sensible words to describe this really.

or a way of making it a thing that is understood.

i think that i like myself better, alone.

misunderstanding seems to follow me like a pack of hungry mutts, but i'm okay with that i suppose.

it's really alright.

i become lost in my thoughts, in my books, in my art.

and it's really alright.

i find comfort in the little things.

and in the Big Thing.

He makes me feel like a little thing.

and that smears a smile right across my rascal of a face.

oh how He loves such a wretched little thing like me.