Sometimes, Sometimes you think too loud. And that's okay. Because you're the only one who hears. They look at your face, The crease in your brow, The downturn of your mouth, The twitch in your hands, They certainly look, But they do not observe. Of course they might try, A little touch to stiff shoulders, Soft smiles, Rounded eyes, Kind laughter. Trying to communicate, Bodily. Doing empathy's waltz Careful steps after your own. They try, Sometimes. But sometimes they don't. Glazed over eyes Problems of their own Deep, troubling As shallow as yours. You are alone, You think, in the end. Perpetually. Utterly. You will die a starched corpse, Ten feet underground. White lilies rotting over your concrete encased Casket. You don't like to think about it. It makes your thoughts Too Loud. Fleeting touch on the back of a hand Soft, human hairs. Freckle near your thumb. Look up. Friend. Companion. Dance partner. Eyes crinkle in the corners, Remind you of sunshine. Crunching leaves under your feet, Good hair day, Rainbows while it's still raining, Pennies face up. Reminds you, Caskets are for the dead. But the dead can't think. So you think a little louder. Friend. Don't take sadness, No, not that. Only, Remind of happiness. Grass between your toes, Sun on your back, Not much thinking at all.