Yes, there are places I wouldn't go.
But not many.
There are some places I hate.
More than any.
All are inside my mind
Places but few can find.
When I'm there I'm alone.
Yet surrounded.
I hear voices and echoes.
I scream for quiet and they subside.
Yet their presence slowly grows
Until I'm overwhelmed.
They are a part of me.
Yet they act on their own.
I am a colour.
They are my tone.
I am blind and they can't see
Fumbling in the darkness blindly.
Yet their incessant chidings grate upon me.
I am slipping.
Doing as they say.
I know I must be mad.
Or are the voices a seperate entity
Individual from my sanity.
Do as I say
Do as I command
You are but a bird
I am but the hand
Is it I who speaks?
I can no longer tell.
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