Sometimes, I hear them. They whisper quietly, words that I don't know. I understand them, nonetheless. The tell me dark things. Things of pain and torture and death. Things that I do not want. They scream at me in angst sometimes of what I cannot say. When I speak to someone in public, they'll scream louder for me to get away. I want to fight them- I really do- but how do you kill the monsters inside you?
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Cover It Up
RandomWhen I'm alone, thoughts come into my head. These thoughts make sentences and sentences stories. I'm going to put them all right here...