Parts of me feel unreal or like they are simmering out of my existence. It’s like I am losing little fragments of who I am.

I grasp at them through the hazy cloud but I grab nothing but empty space, leaving me to question whether I was ever there at all or if I am a figment of my own daydreams.

I’m deep in escapism right now. The real world does not appeal on any level and yet even those safe spaces are filling with dark thoughts and ghastly turns of events.

My mind is becoming my villain. Serving out its vengeance on me, with the biggest problem being that the hero has yet to be born.

I feel like a cramped city sometimes. There are so many parts of me milling about in there, each one with its own story to spin, yet none of them working in union.

Are they aware of one another? Am I even aware of all my occupants yet or is there more hiding away? I mean, immigrants hide from under the radar, what if parts of me don’t belong there and have settled for whatever reason and just can’t or won’t leave?

I am often finding that I carry other people’s problems. Their shame and guilt and there inability to see their own truth.

I guess I’m not that different from the government I so despise.