Looking In

I try hard to imagine what it must be like to be you How your mind is filled with strange urges compelling you to rant People melting into other personas all of which are persecuting you Loved ones around you turning a blind eye and seemingly not caring Needing to be loved so much that a simple kind word turns into obsession And you grasping those kind people strangling them with your psychosis But as hard as I try in my imagining I find I cannot trick my unbroken mind I am left exhausted, twisted, but mostly sad for all that you have become