Degradation

So painfully carefully I must walk,
husbanding my precious inner pitfalls,
twitchingly vigilant against the world,
and hyper-attuned to disappointment,
Compulsively reciting litanies
of each thing's potential to do me harm,
each person's potential for treachery,
each place's potential imprisonment
Tight-lacing my armor of self-restraint
self-hobbled against bolting from my fears
the price an inability to act
hording my reserves of strength jealously
against my panic's sapping exhaustion
Compression chokes up nervous babbling,
(both a diversion and a substitute
against my weak yearnings for connection)
quickly dismissed and easily ignored,
created only to be rejected;
goading me to scramble further inside,
baffled in choking swaths of apathy
against desire and stark disregard,
starving in my hollow shell of my self
for want of company

Being awake and alone late at night is often a bad idea for me.

 How is it that the only innate talents I have and the only things I find to be of true interest and importance are considered to be so mind-numbingly boring and distasteful by the rest of my species that they have become sad and tired jokes one would go through nearly any lengths to avoid having to discuss, much less participate in?

Midnight Musings

What if we have the symbolism for The Fall all wrong? What if the myth is supposed to convey that all the sins of man stem from the MISTAKEN conviction that some things in the world are good while others are evil and you know the difference. How many of our history's horrors have had that poison at their root? That would mean those who carry the greatest sin are those who seek most passionately to destroy Evil. 
These are the sorts of things I think about when I can't sleep.