Skin.

It’s hard to let go,

When i can still feel the pressure of your touch

Even in my dreams.

Don’t tell me what’s on your mind.

Take me for a night drive.

We’ll take turns with the playlist.

We’ll listen in silence.

I’ll light us up a cigarette.

And we can drown in our own pollution

Of thoughts and smoke.

The voices in my head.

The voices in my head

Are always talking throughout the day

And just before I dive into

A world of nothingness,

Of no physical pain 

Or emotional distress,

They start to get louder

The volume intensifies

They yell,

Demanding to be heard 

Demanding an answer, a reply.

I cannot even enjoy the stillness

The silence that exists

Before one sleeps.

I cannot even listen to 

The annoying ticks of the clock.

All I can hear are these voices.

Random conversations 

Of mini versions of me 

That reside in my head 

Not even talking to each other

But talking to the wall.

Every single version 

Is ranting to that mushy wall.

And when I want to escape it all,

They remind me of their presence,

That I won’t be able to escape 

For too long,

That they’ll be there waiting

For me to wake up

And attend to their disturbing,

Bothersome, tiring, and exasperating

Complaints and protests

Until I solve them 

One by one.