losing my voice to cope

Losing my voice to cope. 

To cope with you and all of those years of pain. 

I’m a tortured soul stuck in this prison, losing hope. 

I slowly disappear as the memories fall down like heavy rain. 


I try to reach for me. 

But for some reason I’m no longer there. 

I guess they really can’t see. 

If only they could just decide to care. 


I remember when it first happened. 

Tears were falling down as I heard your disappointed, angry voice, and your voice only. 

As the years went by, I became more and more saddened. 

No one can ever hear my heart, oh, I feel so lonely. 


Every mistake was an opportunity for you to destroy my growing mind.

Here I am now, numb and disconnected from the world around me. If

only you were kind enough to not be so blind, 

Perhaps, I could’ve been free, and still be. 


The smell of the room makes me panic. 

My body begins to shake and bleed. 

I’m starting to think that I’m manic. 

Oh, how excited the monsters are, the ones that I feed. 


But why do I miss the past? 

Why do I want to feel the pain of the experience all over again? 

Why does it all go so fast? 

The view passes the inmobile train. 


I want more and more wounds. 

I want my body to be ripped into shreds. 

I want them to keep coming towards me, the hounds. 

I guess I won’t mind being thrown away with all of the other broken heads. 


Why am I staying? 

Why do I keep dealing with it all? 

They just keep on playing. 

To them, my heart is just a game of throwing the ball. 


It’s never enough. 

No matter how much I scream through the words I write. 

The puke of words I let out on the paper, it makes it harder to act tough. 

But it sometimes clears up the beauty of the daylight.


I beg my mind to let me run away. 

But as a tortured soul, I remain trapped inside the comfort of my pain. 

For some unknown reason, I keep letting the cars run over me on the highway. 

I’m addicted to the feeling of my rotting brain. 


The thoughts of her words spread through my mind like a weed. 

I’m losing myself more and more every day. 

I can feel my mind starting to bleed. 

My pain is becoming my identity, but I guess that’s okay. 


Using my mind to escape, building my own paracosm. 

For everything to be okay, at least for a little while. 

And there he was, the medicine was him. 

But those same monsters come back, taking away my smile. 


Stuck pacing around, trying to get away. 

But I’m trapped, they keep calling me back in. 

Keeping me in, for them it’s child’s play. 

Unsuccessfully, reality tries to break in. 


The smell, the voices, the places, the dates. 

They keep coming back to haunt me. 

I can never escape from the vivid memories that are keeping me trapped like closed gates. 

As I panic and run away, they follow as they taunt me. 


Everything becomes foggy. 

I’m starting to lose touch with reality. 

Have the memories always been this cloggy? 

I’m stuck in this chair, once again unfree. 


Is this real? 

Or is this just a dream? 

The question never leaves my head, it’s as hard as steel. 

Will I wake up if I have my last moments and finally let out a scream? 


If I wake up, will I be back in my nine year old body? 

Safe in my pink bed, with the sun lighting up my room? 

If someone could hug me and tell me that it’s all a dream, anybody! 

And when I go back to sleep later on at night, I will never again experience this doom. 


They’re finally trying to save me, but why can’t I speak? 

Isn’t this what I wanted? Didn’t I ask for this? 

“It’s okay honey,” she says after a kiss on the cheek. 

But all of this pain, why does it feel like bliss?


I go to sleep, slightly hoping to wake up back in the good old days. 

I kiss my current self goodbye, just in case. 

But when I wake up, it’s just another one of those black out days. 

I sit on my bed and cry, until I fade away into my headspace.