It’s all too loud, but all to quiet at the same time. But my lips never move; sewn shut with black thread with my own, shaking hands. It is my mind that is the culprit! It always is nowadays, thinking far too much about things it shouldn't. We've been down that road before, for you see, my mind is a betrayer!
The thought appearing in various forms, intruding when it wishes. But it never shouts, it whispers. For, what is worse; shouting as loud as you can so the enemy can hear you? Or is it that little whisper into their ear, which may or may not have happened. Had it even been said at all? What is it they meant? Is that what they said? It leaves the mind wandering on itself for hours on end, hoping it wasn't what they feared most from that one little bit of poison. It’s these whispers that have betrayed me; I pray that they’d stop. They drive me mad! They aren't wanted nor needed. Please stop, stop! I can’t take them anymore!
But instead, they lie in the background, their voices snickering at my misery. There are days where I look at the brick walls of my room, and get a sweet feeling at the thought bashing my head against them, no more thoughts. But at the same time, a darkness confronts me, that fear, of no longer having the body to have good thoughts. So instead, I keep my head down, my tears at bay, scribbling on paper after paper of various poems to help ease my mind.
into the trash they go, they’re not worthy of sharing, not of any genius.
The paper is tossed, and the pills prescribed are in hand.
The bottles rattle as their pills shake from their places, their dosage landing on the table before more.
Pick them up, bottle of water in the other hand
The effects have already sunken in, their high a welcome blessing, no more thoughts, no more bad ones. Sweet bliss, almost enough to trust my betrayer again. But it’s still there, whispering, the medication putting a mute over it, but I can still see their lips moving, evilly grinning, snickering.
A calm song is placed before my ears, their notes fading into my ears, soothing my mind, their storm ending. Their lips are no longer moving, entranced by the wonderful song at hand.