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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1127923
Wrote it when I was sick
Lying here alone
My inspiration is thrown
Because of the voices
That I hear
Are they far or are they near?
Why can’t they just disappear?
All it brings to me is fear

Distorted sounds
Telling me what to do
Pressuring me to end my life
Pressuring me to get into strife
Pressuring me to get the knife
And to kill all that is

Voices insulting my ways
To lower my self esteem
Hoping that I will soon
Loose my mind
Strangle my soul
Suffocate my heart
End my time

Help me
Protect me
Stop me from hearing
Stop me feeling
The pain
Inside my brain

In my mind all I see
An endless winding road
And me running
From something that cant really be
I can’t see it, but I know it’s there
I know, because of all the pain
All the pain I feel inside

It’s to late
I’m already insane
It’s to late
I’m already suffering
It’s to late
I’m already dying
It’s to late
I’m dead
© Copyright 2006 Deaths best friend (punkbrudda at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1127923-Madness