As the gap grows between the self you are and the self you thought you would be,
Your envisioned self dies the death of a million cuts,
Like a drawing incrementally erased from a white board.
You are strong where he is weak,
Grieving where he is alight with fancy,
Alive where he is dead,
Condemned to a known fate.
Mostly, you are conscious while he is not;
He is a character projected on a screen,
While you are the writer of your destiny.