I am not me.
I look in this mirror, this wretched bar of glass, and I feel the tears on this body that is my own, but it isn't mine.
My body is wrong; I cannot claim it. It isn't my own, but I can feel some.
My chest is detached. I can't feel it at all. These mounds on my chest confuse me; why are they there?
My eyes show me something I could never understand. My dreams show me a treasure I could never possess. It feels too late, but I cannot stop these feelings, this pain, this agony I feel daily, because I am not me, and I fear I never will be.
