I Talk To The Voices

I talk to the voice,

That lives in my head.

If it lets me go,

I would feel dread.

Not a day has passed

I want to be dead.

I take so many pills

To rid them from me.

I want them to leave.

I want them to flee.

Each day that I wake,

And each night

That I slumber,

The voices have grown,

Grown in number.

What started as one.

It has grown into two.

Even with medication,

Their numbers grew.

When I die, we all die,

Every last one.

I will write you a poem,

The voices will shun.

I will live my last days,

As each one comes.

A poem by: Garry Ventura