Sunder

I have a bad habit of Mystique, of Vagueness, of Huimility, of Archaic Expressions.

I cannot express myself clearly; too long have I spent inside my own head, explain things to myself with ever increasing madness colouring my words. Flowery language blooms in my muddled thoughts, 'high language' replacing the common tongue... and the common tongue is common for a reason; people understand it, it's clear, it's base and widely spread.

Poetic language and form inundate my thoughts; it is why my writings twist so, and why I cannot speak clearly; my thoughts do not translate to spoken language, my madness bars my tongue from wagging with silver syllables...

So I mumble, and stumble, and hesitate to speak; so I am brash among friends, and silent among strangers, letting my deep bass rumble forth on rare occasions, holding my tongue for fear of shame and the rapid, rapid speech my tripping syllables take.

And that is that, I suppose. Now you know more about me =)