The anguish grows every passing day
my true life stolen by terrible events.
I watched them create something that was not me
I watched as a fake was made to be.

Viewing actions that were never intended
seeing things which should not be.
I watch from this prison within
I watch trying desperately to break free.

But this fake is becoming real
forever imprisoning me within myself.

worth of Dostoevsky. scary.

Peter

This Dostoevsky guy the same feller what wrote that New World Sympathy?