I diagnose myself with deafness –

and blindness in some days,

when my eyes are swollen

and all I can distinguish are the light and dark.

But deafness is permanent.

I can’t hear myself think logically.

Even the annoying voices have become so faint.

I can’t hear the scream that escapes me

when I lay down in bed,

or the prayers I constantly repeat in desperation.

I can’t even hear the silence,

only a persistent buzz;

a broken radio with no signal.

Could be a chronic infection in my ear,

secondary to my insane state of mind,

cured if only my sanity is treated.

One of the voices in my head.

I called out for you, you know.

Over and over again.

I was on repeat like a broken tape.

I was right in front of you.

Begging for you to hear me.

Shaking you, punching you,

And you did not even flinch.

I gave out a shriek

Like a crazy person claiming sanity.

I fell to your feet,

Squirming like a mouse.

Why aren’t you answering me?

Answer me.

I am a version of you after all.

So listen to me.

Even if you are pressured 

With all the other voices,

Listen to me.

I deserve to be heard too.

These voices again. 

Smoke is gathering

And I can barely see.

Confusion fill my expression.

Eyes colored with a deep maroon.

Tears are bleeding out.

Coughing out red stains.

Sirens are screaming for help,

But no one is attending.

The sound is screeching on a blackboard

And my ears are itching from irritation.

These are moments where I don’t understand

What on earth is happening 

Why and how is it happening

And all the voices crying in my head

Are trying to answer me

At the same bloody time

Injuring the shell of the human 

That they are contained within.

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.