You want a glimpse of my mind?
Will you embrace its futility in its whole?
The orchestra of voices that ricochet
My distraught woes so cumbersome

I am often frightened
With the depth of their accusations.

"You deserve to die"
"You waste of space"
"You don't belong here"
"Pills. Pills. Pills."
"Die. Now. You whore."
"Bleed. You're a waste of breath."

I wish you could make them shut up.
They drive me mad
Mad. Mad. I beg of you.
Make them stop.

They remind me of the nastiest nights
And the wretched mornings
Where my face feels like a disgrace

Why won't they stop?
Their constant badgering
Whispering, screaming.
Angry voices, mean tones.
Won't stop, they never do.

I have been titled
With numerous illnesses
That only glorify
Their disgusting presence

Nobody seems to know
Why they belong
In the strongest centre
Of my mind.

They just exist,
Like you and I do.
I can't make them stop.
You refuse to acknowledge them.
Cuz they don't really exist
A maya of my disturbed imagination.

What mirrors my mind truly to you?
All I see,
Are tainted images
With voices
Of octaves
More dangerous
Than I can stand them to be.