I tell myself I get sick it’s okay I go to the hospital I get better

needles seeking tragedy

tattoos that hide

under sleeves

blood rotten and bittersweet

ciao to the veins laced with low dopamine

I pretended they are not there,

the voices speak,

the tortured , joyous murmurs,

giving advice,

like they know anything,

berating,

like it's their business,

complaining,

like it's my fault, or that i can help,

mocking,

like i'm not used to it.

dealing with the voices,

i get a thick skin,

which i groom and shed,

as season and humidity require.

the voices don't learn,

the voices don't really care,

so i told them to get lost,

gave them all Fs, and a citation.

see how their mommies,

deal with the disciplinary quagmire.

I find comfort

In the rhythm of solitude

Soothing myself

In the absence of your lead

My toes

No longer contending with your ego