A little voice…

You spew hatred in my ear at the first sight of good. You wash away any scent I could have had of promise. I tell myself, you can beat this. Fight the whispering ghost. I’ve never seen this creature but it sees me more clearer than myself. It speaks of my scars on my left wrist, my stretch marks across my belly, the dryness of my skin, the blemishes upon my cheeks, it knows my biggest flaws and my darkest secrets. Constantly threatening to share them with anyone who dares approach. I haven’t told anyone and yet… it knows everything. I tell the therapists of your voice and all the hurtful things it says. They ask, “Who, where?” But I can only point at myself because the voice is from within side.

It’s some horrible shit show, someone, something is possessing me. I never had these thoughts, they aren’t mine but I hear, I hear the voice in my ear, I can hear it’s voice. It’s me. I’m the ghost. I spit these lies until every last one because truth. The more I say it, the more true they become. If I believe it… is it the truth? If what I say is really real, why haven’t I done what it’s told me?

Why haven’t I pulled the trigger, pressed the knife harder, taken more pills, not come up for air, or sit on the tracks any longer?

Why did I stay when I was so close from accomplishing what it, no, I wants.

Why can’t I listen?


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