The Watchers

Sitting silently, I look across the soaken street.
I see myself just looking back at me as though I were a ghost.
What could this mean? I do not think things like this are real.
I wave my hand and it just frowns and mouths words to me.

Sometimes It feels like life is a memory, an unlit gallery,
you see what you want to see.
Everywhere I go I feel it's always there.
It's nothing I can ever bear, I'll just have to think it through.