Winding Road

I'm not cynical, I'm simply over analytical. Smack in the middle of self harassment and public embarrassment. Tender to the touch, caring too much. Not burning bridges but smoothing out the ridges. I expect perfect and deflect this absence. That consumes me, can't assume with me. Or throw me out to sea. The waves will always be too cold and I realized I need more than air to continue to breathe.