Socia-Phobia

standing in the line i feel the pressure, scolding, start to build, i feel their each and every iris as they climb the height of my structure, this fortress i was forced, by fear in youth, to unearth and bare in hand, with time has weathered thin and i with it feel increasingly translucent. mutter and glance, hands attempt to contain their maintenance. to look and to listen, not a single tone to note or color to perceive. their contaminants infiltrate my ventilation, the stench is sickening, pulse erratic and mind askew, i flee, steps fueled by incubated haste, cause comes to such effect even the beaten path is bruised by its confusion. the archway constitutes a sigh and with that a slow of pace, fumbling finger over fidget, pocket full with whispers coaching panic on its way. the breathe of smoking paranoia shrugs a calming gesture. a wink of timid silliness and nurtured nature bring to mind, how, even aware of relevance, dissimulation fogs the clouds.