Chicken Little Tendancies

My voice is a crashing disaster, yes. Pick pocketing hearts in a line, in a rushing crush of loud sentiments and anxieties. I believe in other things. Crumble crushed I raced away playing with the idea of saving it all for another day. Another day to swear by delays. I am crushing ambition with bitten fingers. The nails get limp, damp in the act of perserverance. I just need the feeling of safety. I just need one moment of perfection... 
However, when it comes I am not done. More, more, more! Serve me more delicious promises that nourish. That one more moment fueled the hunger for more. The perfect face smeared with a smirk, stealing glances and cutting remarks. Cook this comment or serve it raw. Either way I will be chewing the bile wrapped blanket in sweet. 
I mind terribly, I do, but when you ask I say it doesn't matter. I don't want to disapoint. I don't want to be the cause disaster gave to take strike. 
I am not asking any more questions; this is the time for you to provide answers. They come on stilts, I know, and you afraid of heights. Afraid of falling. Afraid of landing. Afraid keeps you standing looking stupid. I hope you know it. You look like a complete fool gesturing ackwardly. 
Some days I hate you more than others. I know you feel the same, but you lack the strength to have your say. So stay there, and gesture. Mime out your panic and water your soul through the eyes. There is nothing more regrettable than a man made mute by chicken little tendancies.
I stand apart, and although I hesitated now I am walking away. I used to be like you, wishing I was who I was before. But I grew ramshackle vine ways. I grew in a disary I save to say I don't want to be that one who lead me through the maze unrehearsed. I want to be better versed. I want to be what I am becoming. I want to say good bye fondly to who I was before.
Who I was before catered to you. Now who I am canters away with out expression. You don't effect me enough to warrent response. Even my pity is dimming.
You are a part of the past that could not move with me. Now you will stay stagnant and smelling, standing. 
I can't sense any of your fear anymore. I am moving past, and forgetting all the details that made you prominant in my life. Now you are a character stretched into a frame packed in a box and left by the dumpster the next time I move. 
Good riddance, truly good.