Self Disease

I’m nobody.
I sit in silence and observe from a distance, I analyse your behavioural patterns, the way you interact and socialise with others, I learn who you are publicly.

I morph my personality around yours, I decide who I am based on your responses and reactions to other things.

I am constantly playing an act a role, mask after mask and for what?

All I’ve learned in the end is pain and suffering a constant dysphoria that eats away at my mind.

There was once a carefree joyful child with round chubby cheeks who was timid but liked to play with toys and make friends with kind, nice people.

He could smile and laugh he enjoyed existing so blissfully ignorant to the world around him and the world much further beyond his life.

But he grew up and that destroyed him, he was never ready never prepared, the world tore him apart over and over and over again because HE was never built for this world this life this existence this torment and this curse.
But HE will always exist and he did exist and he holds onto all of that pain and suffering because it’s all he knows and he holds her back, she never got a chance to live.

There was a chance but he took it away from her because he doesn’t want anyone else to be happy because he doesn’t know how to control his own life his own emotions his own feelings his own fucking thoughts.

So he lurks and he pretends, manipulates and destroys himself slowly.

Because if he can’t live, why should she?

What a mess
It didn’t have to be this way.

You fucked up, you keep fucking up and you always will.