I’m afraid they’re losing interest.

I’m afraid I think too much.

I’m afraid that no one hears me.

I’m afraid that I’ll have nothing to say.

I nearly choked that day on the alter, and died right there in front of you all.

I almost couldn’t do it, couldn’t face it for another moment without screaming from the pit of my stomach. A scream to shake the foundations. A scream that rang for miles.

And it seems so small now. Like an uncomfortable silence in the midst of a conversation with a stranger, when you think that it might be over. But that day it almost crushed me.

I’m afraid that I’m talking too loud.

I’m afraid that you wont miss me when you’re gone.

I’m afraid that I’ve grown stagnant.

I’m afraid I’ve asked for too much this time.

When its completely dark and silent, in the hours when god himself is asleep, it all swells up in me, and I feel that I might burst. It goes away in the end, and I feel much better for having been there in the first place.

I’d like to exchange my ticket please, this trip isn’t sounding so good anymore.

Wherever else you send me, I’d like a layover in Graceland please, so that I can dig up The King and fart in his eye sockets.

Don’t get it? Take a number.