schizophrenia

The Man in the Mirror and His Music

The man in the mirror keeps looking at me. He speaks to me and knows what will break me. He picks away at me like I will crumble. Sometimes he transcends the mirror and sits beside me on the couch or holds a knife to my face, whispering that I should let him take over or kill myself now. When we were little we used to toss a baseball back and forth. Or we would take turns scoring goals in soccer. My imaginary friend looked just like me. I grew up, and he became less imaginary and far more destructive.