voices.
the first word I searched.
an idea now purged.
as the whisperings merged.

voices.
not insane, simply choices.
as my subconscious rejoices.
for many are voiceless.

voices.
so melancholy, so loud.
too soft, or too proud.
one person, or a crowd.

voices.
not deafening, like quiet.
or hungry, like a riot.
a lull hum, near compliant.

An inky tattoo
Was crawling up his neck
A newfound taboo
For I, was a wreck

What had happened
His nails were sharp
I could not tell
Each arm apart

Exposed was I
Helpless and hurt
Couldn’t look to the sky
Couldn’t utter a word

Weak and broken
I hated myself for
I was a token
I looked to the floor

And shouts were near
But I shut them out
I couldn’t hear
Those I cared about

In my head
To escape what’s real
I might have bled
But I couldn’t feel

No, I haven’t moved
Since I fell that day
Nothing to prove
Nothing to say

So I’ll stay silent
For no one can hear
The world is violent
The world I’m near