She tips the bottle
like it’s a volume button,
hoping silence
comes in liquid form.
The voices crowd her ribs,
echo off the walls of her skull,
tell her she is not enough,
tell her she is too much.
She doesn’t want the drink —
she wants the quiet.
Just a moment
where her mind loosens its grip.
But somewhere beneath the noise,
a softer voice waits —
not loud, not cruel —
just patient.
It whispers:
You are tired, not broken.
You need help, not hiding.
And maybe one day
she will pour the bottle out
and let someone
hear her instead.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 7:15 AM UTC
She tips the bottle
like it’s a volume button,
hoping silence
comes in liquid form.
The voices crowd her ribs,
echo off the walls of her skull,
tell her she is not enough,
tell her she is too much.
She doesn’t want the drink —
she wants the quiet.
Just a moment
where her mind loosens its grip.
But somewhere beneath the noise,
a softer voice waits —
not loud, not cruel —
just patient.
It whispers:
You are tired, not broken.
You need help, not hiding.
And maybe one day
she will pour the bottle out
and let someone
hear her instead.
This is my version of how I'd silence the noise in my head...
Enjoy
