The Voices

There was a boy who did not fit in,
A boy who was an outsider and had few friends,
He was loyal to few and above all to himself,
He was teased day in and day out,
Then he had a chance to be like them but he said no,
Instead he continued to suffer their rude remarks and pitiful pranks,

At last he could take no more,
On his way home he had a silent argument with himself,
"Do it you waste of space" taunted Unborn Twin,
"Don't c-c-ch-chicken out ss-s-stutterboy" laughed Hangman,
"No please don't cried Maggot" but he was too weak, drowned out by the other voices,

After much debate he arrived home,
Calling out into the house only to find no one was there,
He was alone, something he had become accustomed too,
Up, up, up the stairs he went,
Sliding into the bathroom he went,
Rummaging through the drawers he found his shinny escape,

A final glance into the mirror was made,
Reflecting a scrawny boy with hallow eyes,
Turning away from the mirror he crouched down,
Clutching the cod metal he began to draw, his wrist the canvas,
Drawing intricate patterns with a blood red ink,
Silent tears streamed down his face as the voices in his head cheered in triumph,

Slowly slipping into the clutches of Death he gave one last sob,
Then finally he gave in,
Allowing his dark desires to conquer him,
The voices of others had turned him against himself,
They had won.