This ****’s been going on,
for far too long.
It took me talking to him,
to know something was wrong.
It started as a whisper,
so quiet and weak.
I could force it to silence,
without having to speak.
Then my mind and body,
started to waste.
He started to gorge,
and fell in love with the taste.
My slow decline,
was the foothold he needed,
and his tendrils grew,
where I didn’t know they were seeded.
His control grew bigger,
till it shadowed my mind,
and the whiskey fog I was in,
had simply turned me blind.
Then one day I was through,
enough was enough.
I was going to take control,
I had to be tough.
That was the first time,
that he spoke to me,
and that “no” was enough,
to finally make me see.
I tried and I tried,
again and again,
crying through his laughter,
trying to pour him out through a pen.
He was poison,
like a cancer you see.
He was killing us both,
but everyone just blamed me.
Then one day I realized,
I couldn’t get rid of that voice.
To do that meant death,
and that wasn’t a choice.
He’s a part of me,
but disconnected too.
A bystander to the hell,
that he’s putting me through.
Now every day is a struggle,
to quiet his voice.
Trying to convince myself,
that I do have a choice.
So he’s here to stay,
the monkey on my back.
The ominous stranger,
who calls himself, Jack.
We all have that voice, some are stronger than others.
