She writes about herself in the third-person because it makes her feel more significant.

Yet
Nobody
Has written
Your biography

And It's always
You
Who have to

Even as
The third person

Once upon a time
He called himself
“He”
Not to hurt her

She called herself
“She”
Not to hurt him

That’s how
The story began
That's how
The story ended

Time, back then

Saw her standing on a balcony's ledge, staring down. Swore she could have jumped if it could stop the talking in her head, she's lost contact with herself, "insane" with hatred of self- she's felt the breath of death against her neck since **** had hit the fence- now she's hopping over it , total devotional focus, to hop, to land in the place of older, like greener grass, being sober, to love the one reflected when beauty gets inspected, expected recognition of her faulty symmetrics, civil disobedience creeping up in the rear of her, teetering on the length of the time that takes to make it, from top to bottom, toppling, dropping nonstop, won't stop till her heart stops.

He is walking the streets of his mind,
blind to any and all rays of light
peeking through the crack in slight
little flickering beams.
It seems that he will never be
the assembly of feelings that she
called happy.
It is there now and again,
but it is gone before now becomes then.
He walks the path of a thousand other men
but he walks it alone.
He is Spencer Dennison.

Do you feel pity?
Do you feel spite
at the idea that I might
quite possibly
have penned this
for for you to feel sorry for me?
I enjoy attention.
It's a thing I get in rations,
packed in  a steel MRE
waiting to be peeled back and basked in
just for the time it takes
to flee back again.

I wrote this
not for you to feel sorry for him.
I wrote this
not for you to try to support him.
I wrote this
why?
Because it's late
and I have nothing better to do
than to create
little save-states in the page.
To fall back on when things are in doubt.
What I get out
of this is the calm of mind
in knowing that I have shouted my plight
into to dead air.
So if no-one ever hears my prayer,
it's not because it was not offered.

I guess I write in third person
so I can pretend that my feelings
aren't mine