The Voices

They come to us at dusk,
Just as surely as the moon,
Ready to dismantle us
With sickly twists of truth.

“What a weak, pathetic thing you are,
A sad and meager joke.
Do you know that they are laughing
As you struggle and you choke?
How long ’til they abandon you,
and tire of your ways?
Why do you even bother?
How do you face the day?”

The voices lurk within us,
Composed wholly of the dark.
Though absent of a body
They all dwell inside our hearts.

“You have not a thing to offer,
Nor a single one who cares.
You know that you would take your life,
If you were man enough to dare.
But you will never do that.
No, you sit instead and cry.
You are just a loser;
Spineless and awry.”

How can we even fight them,
When they are of ourselves?
They know of all the skeletons
We hide behind the shelves.

“What pity they must have for you,
The revulsion they must feel.
It will be hilarious
When you are brought to heel.
When you are optimistic,
It is funniest of all.
Go ahead and fail then.
I will love to watch you fall.”

It is not the nasty things they say
That keep me up at night.
It is knowing they are evil,
But are sometimes also right.

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