It's not my fault; they wanted me to do it.

Don't you know about them?

My voices? No, didn't think you would, too weird for you I'll bet.

My voices. They speak to me. Tell me horrible things.

I know how you're going to die. I know how I'm going to die. I see the wounds in your flesh as you ask me how I feel, why I did it. I see the shot in between my mothers eyes, fired when I have no more strength left to fight my voices. When I give in to what they want from me. I have to stare at myself every morning in the mirror, gashes all over me, running down my body. I cry tears of blood for the people the voices hate.

The ones the voices want me to end.

Oh go on. Take one look at me and say: "Drug addiction. Hallucinations. Quite normal to hear voices." But you don't understand. No one apart from me knows.

Why do you think I take drugs?

Because I'm lazy?

Bad choices?

Forced to?

Wrong. I want to take these drugs. They calm the voices, numb them.

Drugs stop the voices hurting. They do. The voices can't stand them and run away. I always feel I've won another round when they run, do you realise? No. Didn't think you would.

Because you don't hear the voices.

I do.

And they don't like you.


CC is always appreciated. Please review.

/ \ / \ / \ \/