This is not me
This is an imitation
Forged from a necessity to provide
In a world which fragments reality and personality
I grieve for precious time
Who I was is broken down
Unrecognisable, and consumed
Unless the imitation becomes a shield
And the world outside a monster
To be eaten by the broken-down imposter
Bringing me back to life
debilitates and smears
a synthetic human
into a state of nothing.
she harms herself,
realising she is not
worthy of the words her
alter ego spews.
fiction too deeply
because she is not in it.
Caught in the crossfire of someone else’s cruelty
She tiptoes up my spine, testing for weak points
“They hate you.” She whispers,
Devouring my faith with an angry smile
I thought I got over girls like her, decades ago
but it seems I’m infected, have not fully recovered
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll forget her, and myself.
Feeling overwhelmed, in this dead space.
Powerful and consuming. The small ‘d’ grows until
This Twenty First Century place, deflates me
Fluttering, numbing, until I’m needles, shaking to nothing.
Sleepwalking through this life
Dreaming of a new one.