It’s as if
I’m living in an alternate realm where
only I exist
and my comprehension of people
is the only truth behind their existence.

As if
I’m bred from the love I have for myself
and the love I have for the ones around me.
Yet I remain uncertain:
As if I’m misplaced.
As if I’m myself,
but not really.

As if my other self is in control sometimes,
and I’m standing in silhouette
demanding X or O keep me alive;
too late;
I’ve died again.
And again.
I’ve let myself down again.
I’ve disrupted the balance,
again:

My mind creates this
virtual reality and
relives my days
again and again,
whilst I dream.
Trying
to maintain
that I do good;
speak good;
be good.

You see,
unsaid words are not invisible,
they just reside in me until
my mind recreates
the night,
the day, and
the people:
what they’d say and
what they’d laugh at.

Then
it reminds itself
to say that thing it was longing to,
to laugh at that joke it lacked to,
to hug that person it ached to.

The parallel separation of
my thoughts and my self grows.
As if I’m playing
a videogame
where I’m
watching myself do something I’ve already done;
or say the thing I wanted to
but didn’t.