What terrible sorrow it is
to know there is a world of souls to talk to,
yet the only ones I can find
to share company with
are the devils inside my mind.
They work me into delusions
using their power to keep me locked
so far up in my head
that I am disconnected from my body.
Self destroy, they tell me.
They protect me from the sting of the blade
that I take to my own skin,
******* it into a void somewhere in their realm
so that I feel nothing
no matter how deep I go.
They tell me how easy
it would be to break my wrist.
Tell me how good it would feel
to bash my head until I see the stars.
The world is ending, they tell me
so end with it.
They give me sights of fire, ember and ash,
let me see a glimpse of their world,
inspire me to draw them.
But art no longer feels like a creative outlet
When I see what they made me draw,
I feel an endless doom.
There can be no hope in the world
with these devils of mine running about.
They give me a plan
one that ensures a quick death.
When I resurface I realize,
I am in a hospital.
The nurses give me medication
to take the voices away.
You're okay, they tell me.
You're okay
I knew there was another world out there somewhere
A world better than the one that was created in here
gestures to my head
"What is it?" The nurses ask.
"Does your head hurt?"
"No," I say. "My friends are gone."