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I'm waging a war
on a phantom battleground
and the opposing army consists of myself
versions of me existing within the minds of others
illusions that torture me
no less for being unreal
and they're defeating me

I can feel your eyes upon me
each and every one of you
even those of you who aren't looking
even those of you who aren't listening
your eyes are upon me, too
and every second is Judgement Day

praise and acceptance are betrayed by self-doubt
even when your eyes are kind
and your words gentle
it's not you that speaks to me
it's the me that lives inside of you
and my words are venomous, and vile

the communication gap is an intraversible void of blackness, and sorrow

and I can only be free from myself
when I'm free from everyone else