Killer Voices

That inner voice we all have that sometimes can turn evil. Especially if it multiplies and takes over your sanity.

When I was young I dreamed a dream that I prayed would come true. 

A dream so vivid I awoke from sleep and painted a picture. 

This painting would turn into something magical upon its finish but, 

there was one thing I couldn't remember. 

This one thing in which had slipped my mind would cause this painting to go unfinished. 

I wasn't happy with that and knew that I had to do everything in my power to get it back.

Just like that, it was gone. Gone forever from the possibility of recollection. 

I would go on for many years with this unfinished painting always lurking in the shadows. 

It bothered me a great deal but I couldn't do anything about it. 

Eventually I threw it away, since all it did was bring forth anger and resentment. 

Now, I feel those feelings again for getting rid of it. It haunts me. 

Flashbacks come racing at me one-hundred miles per hour! Everyday and they do not stop. 

Vivid details of that painting, always in the back of my mind. 

I can no longer pay attention to things around me. All I see is this painting. 

Why did I get rid of it? What did this truly solve? Nothing! I try and paint it again. 

No, that's not right! This doesn't belong here! You stupid s**t, get it together! 

It drives me into a frenzy, I lock all doors, never leave the house. 

I must finish this painting before I continue on with my life. 

What life? This isn't living! I've resigned my life from the rule of this painting. 

Phone keeps ringing...ringing...ringing. Finally it stops but only to pick up again. 

I pick it up, throw it against the wall and it shatters into pieces. Back to the painting I go. 

It must get finished! This is important but I don't know what I am to do! 

Nothing is making sense. My mind clouded with negative thoughts. 

I'm not eating and can't remember the last time I rested. There isn't time for that! 

Insanity is creeping in but I welcome it with open arms. 

This painting will be completed and I don't care what I have to do. 

Just then, the voices in my head begin to speak and give me direction. 

It's their painting now. I am no longer in control of the voices in my head. 

I am put to death but my voices live on. Forever, in that unfinished painting. 

Author's Note

Should more be done with the voices aspect in this poem?