there are always whispers in my brain,
falling, pounding like rain.
i try to hide under the umbrella of medicine
but that feels like chacine
so i ask the whisperers to raise their voices,
lend me their forces.
that's the only time they're quiet,
when i'm willing to listen,
succumb to their voices
and forget my vices;
it's only when i grab the pen
that they hide in their den
and await the darkness of the night to come back
and torment my mind
©rey_
-