This is kind of an insight into my childhood. Things I take as real in my memory although no one else saw them, the voices, personalities, dissociation, etc after having my brain tumour. Being alone and being obsessed with hurting myself it felt good…the only thing that really intrigued me was Val Kilmer in Tombstone, especially when he goes to fall off the horse, one of the best things I had ever seen from this side of my reality.
It all comes streaming back
as a child who had every possession
still swinging in the back garden
alone with bursting imagination
and twisted notions
hallucinations of helicopters
flying over in packs, a new war beginning
with the reverberating sirens
new images delivering
planes crashing between houses
still untouched but tainted
losing myself but finding it all
the missing pieces within the cracks
the dented lies appealing to other peoples eyes
fascination with being ill
making myself look it, turned me on
with the void of death bearing down
damned irresistible weight
forming relationships through the gates
the invisible ones between all worlds
connecting unsymmetrical emotions
turning pain from inside to out
becoming everything i hate and am not
to veil the truth that is taking part
appearance opposite to everything i am
i should be glad I’m still alive
but do i really give a damn?
the voices they speak, softer the call
directing my words, acts of devotion
come on over, tell me that i am real
make it bleed ringing in my ears
to dull the whispering upon the silence
i think back then a part of me died
i can now see in between the unexplainable
unacceptable to all you hold to truth
faces in the walls, deluded expectations
i am lingering halfway in odd boundaries
trails of deceptive thought reigning
what stands for here anyway?
the links i am missing from what you have
how do i even know if i am real at all?
I once turned to a friend while riding in a car and said, “I’m going to ask you something and really it probably won’t help, but I’m going to ask you anyway.” He said “okay,” and I continued, saying, “is this day really happening.” He looked at me and said “yes.” Later, he told me he would never forget that day. Many don’t understand how frail their life is. Before this day, on this day, and every day that follows this one I will make a complete honest attempt to not hold back the truth. But, no one is perfect. 
Love yourself
Intriguing… I too sometimes wonder whether it is reality we are living in now or a mere dream to pass before first light. A very good write indeed.
I can’t believe you suffered so much in your childhood. 
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