A first

This woman that I love and unlove. I would do well in my life to never speak ill of her. She is good and kind, and I am the darkness encroaching on this world. I look too hard at it and it burns under my gaze.

My mind. My mind is a box that no one should have to live in. It is voluntary solitude and self-destruction. It contains the world; And passing figments in the shapes of people.

Nothing is real. All is illusion. And the question of what I choose as meaningful or important in this life is an elusive arbitrary one. I will always be wrong. My priorities misplaced until the day I die. And the only solace is at best an awareness of walking the wrong path.

Who am I? 

Asked the echo to the shadow in that empty room.