Uninvited, yet they are present.
How did they get in? When?
They were not always here,
        There was a time, when I was young,
        There was a time, when joy was natural.

The analyst, tearing apart things I have done.
Moments, years in the past, it does not matter.
Playing back multiple scenarios,
        As if they could have been true,
        As if I could change what happened.

The fortuneteller, ignoring the present for the future.
Probability of occurrence, it does not matter.
Playing out endless possibilities,
        As today's concern is wasted on a
        fictional future,
        As today's expectations obscure the truth
        of real moments.

The critic, filling my senses with noise.
Desire for acceptance, peace, it does not matter.
Delivering a constant monologue,
        As the past is judged without consideration for
        my humanity,
        As the future is judged, things that I have not
        yet done.

Somehow they are now inside me, part of me.
Stealing the present, stealing truth, stealing joy.
They create a false world of
        What could have been,
        What may be,
        What should be.