I feel as though a part of me is missing, leaving, fleeting, one foot out the door.
I once had a certain piece that isn't with me anymore.
I'm half a man I'm half alive.
Something broke and drifted down the river. Leaving me desolate. Silently abandoning me as so I never noticed something was missing. Floating in some other place, perhaps deep in the cosmos. Left my half of my mind alone in my head. Leaving the air just a little bit quieter and my thoughts just a little deficient.

I feel as though there is someone in here with me.
Who sounds just like me but thinks differently.
Something that whispers and prowls and hangs around corners breathing loudly.
Something evil.
Something that scares me in the tongue of hopeless addicts, tortured filthy and alone, making two wrongs a right and gazing upon devastatingly desolate landscaped and calling them home.

I feel as though I'm fighting.
That each step I make is a struggle to find direction.
And each thought I have is subjective to my own mind. To my mood. To who happens to be visiting on that day. To who happens to be talking for me in that minute.
I could write one memoir today and another tomorrow.

I feel as though I'm an abstract construct.
With little grounding or meaning.
As though the world is moving through me, instead of me moving through it.
As though I were a pedestrian on my own roads, and not the lawmaker of my own city.

I feel as though I'm unfit to access human connection, as there is no human inside me to connect with. As though I'm joining wires in a control room with the electricity cut.
As though I'm watching a visitor enter an empty house across the street, instead of my own, after I directed them to it.

I feel as though my mind is full but my body desolate, uninhabitable, rent too high.
Empty rooms like hosts for phantom tenants who I care for quietly in the night and never eat with.
There isn't enough room but there's far too much.
Even those closest to me, that pass through the halls can't make this house feel like a home.
And these empty walls are hungry, starving, searching for anything to fill the space.

I feel as though my life drags itself along by its toes, and I lose my hearing more and more each day.
Its as though everything I understood has become a mixed metaphor and moved parking spots while I was in the store.
It's eroding and destroying me in a way only the spiteful can destroy.

I am the villain I am the protagonist but it is not my book, yet I study the passages like holy writ.
I am a lost follower of an obscure religion to which there is no meaning, and I don't know the author, nor do I trust them to write the scripture.
And I feel as though I'm holding on for dear life as the plot progresses, and I although my only bible is my body and mind, I find myself praying to the ever absent god of my universe.

The unknown forces deep inside the circuitry of a mind,
of vivid dreams in made up lands,
The entropic subconscious that holds the power to create and destroy yet with no motive or goal.
Stardust.
Black holes.
Time never ending
no conclusion no resolve
The very essence of birth and decay.
All I know is I am not the one in control.
But there is no one else here.
So what is?