Guilty
Like tires in mud,
Like a knife in my chest,
The visions haunt me,
Until I cannot rest.
I hear those voices,
Crowding in my mind,
Fretting over my words and acts,
Afraid of what they find.
Oh the voices do not rest,
Until they have torn me apart,
The visions, voices like knives,
Driven through my heart.
They are always with me,
Morning, noon, and night,
They may never disappear,
No matter how I fight.
To the voices I beg,
To please leave me be,
For the visions to stop,
To the voices I plea.
I beg to stop,
And as for mercy,
I am to confess,
That I,
Am guilty.
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