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
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