It happens when you’re pronoid not paranoid,
when what makes you uncomfortable is understanding devoid.
Darkness, demons, ghosts aside,
when it’s the fear of love you have to hide.
It’s imprecise that you don’t like help or care,
but in the game of sham, you’re not a player.
It’s the obsession which puts your soul on flare,
but pushing them away is too arduous of a dare.
Having people love you does make you proud,
but you’re not the one to say it out loud.
And showing it off, you’re not duty bound,
be there for each other and have them around.
It’s easy to have people do it your way,
but it’s hard after that to make them stay.
You’re a human you can’t be moulded like clay,
neither black nor white, you’re a shade of gray.
Being left alone is not what you dream,
coping with plight is no sugar and cream.
People might not fathom out the reason behind your scream,
pronoia is complicated, paranoia is main stream.