Gossip

I have become the topic de jour. A mecca of gossip to project their own interpersonal ineptitude upon. All the psuedo-analysts think they have found my root when they do not even know my birth.
Each person I encounter gets a different face. Lately those faces have become incongruent. They crash against my skin, colliding with my soul. I feel eaten alive as people come to consume me.

The woman no man could hold....
I an lost, pulled asunder
wrought by metal and shame
there never was a me, only they
Plucked long ago with little left
I am alien and want to go home
My madness only an imitation
of someone I used to know
My kingdom is treachery, a great gulf
where I lurk at the bottom
Where is my queen-for the kings are corrupt
There are holes in my soul
My skin is the night sky...