Derailing- Decaying- Deranged.
Servile- Sanctified- Strange.

Like a sombre whisper, the voices drown out and rise in the back of my head. The whisper speaks to me... something hypnotising, something enchanting, something expected.

Closing my eyes only makes me focus more. Pressing my temples only brings it close. There's no button to pause it, not one to play. It comes and goes as it pleases.

I lay in wait for the waves to wash me over... carry me away from the voices that have plagued me since forever.

Whispers are infectious, they'd latch onto someone new. I need to drift away before I give in to what it always says.

It's gripping. It's demanding and it's controlling. I get lost. I get confused and I get tired.

That whisper is evil. The whisper's a friend. It has become someone I know. But I can't face it. It's ugly and my own reflection.

How long till I can't stand myself?

How long till I can't say no more?

How long till the noose tightens?

How long till my eyes are closed?

There's happiness and being content. Then there's sadness and being upset. But there's a phase in between. When your soul denies being deserving of any satisfaction, a fleeting moment of pleasure brings a swarm of despair that overwhelms you the next moment. It has no name but we know when we're in the thick of it.