There's a voice in my head, and it's not mine.
I tried to get acquitted with it. I sat with those voices, tried to understand them. There are various voices, the killing kind, doesn't kill you, kills everyone but you. I really sat with my demons, I fed them, I danced with them, and it felt like Sasha Sloan's song, it felt like I was dancing with my ghost.
I lived with my demons, I sat with them, and we told each other stories. At age eleven, I thought they were visiting, thought they'd leave as soon as they could, but they never did.
More than often, I feel like a visitor in my own body. These voices, they can be dynamic, they make me insane, actually, they make me think I'm insane, because they are not supposed to be as loud as there are.
These voices never leave me, they are with me now. It's hard to distinguish between me and the voices, who am I when they are there. They never leave, always there, mocking me, teasing me, taunting me and of course, killing me.
I don't know when they got in, how. At the rate I'm going you'll always have a room in my mind, NF said, and I can only smile because I relate. They are loud, they make you hate yourself, they are so loud, so loud I wish I can put my head down just to breathe.
These voices are chaotic and noisy and messy, wicked and cruel and mean.
There's a voice in my head, and it's not mine.
5:39pm.
March, three, twenty twenty two.
YOU ARE READING
Something Mending -- VOL 1
PoetryOf Breaking hearts, young love, betrayal and pain. Of Mending hearts, familiar pain, unexpected hurt and aftermath. Of Healing hearts, underated heartache, pain and acceptance. Of Love, Love that is as deep sea. Pain, that knows no bounds. Strength...
