Painting by Tamra Pfeifle Davisson

Voices.

Fear of the unknown.
Emphatic utterances.
It’s never been this bad,
this dark.

This night.

Thoughts all over the place.
Places they shouldn’t be,
Doors they shouldn’t open,
They opened them,
All of them,
Open.

The voices.

Plug your ears, son.
You don’t need to be reminded of this, tonight.
Not again.
But they do not stop.
Louder, they become.
In his head, they reside.

His solace.
His sacred place.
It’s been defiled.
Pen and Paper, a tale of once upon a time.

‘You are not good, enough.’

Echoes.

Running.. Panting…
Losing breath… Catching breath,
Running.
Away.. He must.
Away, from these voices.

Left? or Right?
Stop? or Continue?
Questions.
Decisions.
Confusion.

The answers to these, he always lacked.
‘I should stop running, what’s the point?’