Every so often at night as I lay in my bed alone, the voices start talking in my head. Think of me mad, but they fancy me dead. These voices are unique, all one of a kind, and every single one of them wrapped up in my mind. But they cloud my senses, making me blind. I don't know when they started, or whence they came, but they toy with my mind as if it were a game. Thinking of it now, am I the one to blame? I listen to them telling me things like right from wrong, I used to ignore them but the voices are far too strong. Think of me mad, but they've been here all along. For I am the voices, and the voices am I. Created by me, to give me a reason why. Like an imaginary friend, but one that gone awry. What used to be a part of me, simply turned too sly. On but the voices who have done nothing but imply that they fancy nothing more, than for me to die. So as the night draws nearer, and the loneliness creeps in, the voices start talking to me, again and again. Soon, one of these nights, I don't know when, the voices in my mind will eventually win. And on that night, my room therein, would lie a lonely girl, who only once had been.
- Clara Greystone
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anthology
Poetry"human beings are works in progress who mistakenly think they're finished" © taekth 2016
