That Nagging Voice

I watch.
I wait.
Like Guinness.
But less tasty.

For in the recess -
The place where darkness reigns
I hear the spoken, choral sounds of


KILL ME.


It never abates.


Never empties.

Doesn’t give a quarter on any front
Despite all the self-help books and
Conversations meant to make peace.

It ends when I do.

True.
But not a “dream seek”.

Not a shortcut to a
Wife
Children
Solaced sleep

It’s a part of me that scratches
Like the scab that’s always picked at,
Never healing
Never passed.
It’s a box-tick to complete.

A reminder that what’s wrong
Is what’s the aching -
Is what the gong sounds
are calling to…

Something darker
Something new
Something old
Very blue.