Poetry from a damaged soul

Poetically empty

Moods like these I'm poetic, empty
And isolated.
The voices they whisper such mean thoughts.
Take hope and crush it by its throat.
Take happy and smash in its skull, leaving me with a week long migraine that is a pulsing ache.
My body is numb but my mind is alive, but not alive in a good way, in a bad way.
It's infested with live maggots eating away all good thoughts and feelings , making me forget all that is good in life.
My memory fades along with feelings making me tumble over words and phrases are mixed up, creating me to believe I am stupid.
You are stupid
The voices taunt.
And I will believe them, I will let them pull me down , I will let them shut my bedroom door and push me to my bed and tell me to stay there.
I will give in, because
It's easier
They say
If you isolate yourself , nothing bad can happen.
And of course that is a sweet deal to me.
But regardless of that I have to leave home, leave my warm bed behind because I have school.
If I had a choice I'd be in bed right now not writing this on my bus in a desperate attempt to make these feelings go away.
I know they won't
I know I'm trapped
I know my mind has its fingers around my mouth and brain, controlling me.
Owning me.
And it will never stop, some days like today it will be stronger, other days I'm okay enough to ignore it.
Either way , my thoughts catch up in the end leaving me poetically empty like this.