Notes About The Poem
Robert's Voice in My Head Contest ~ August 3, 2026
I Dread the Voice in My Head
Whether I'm awake or asleep,
I walk down a diabolical dark street,
heckled by a voice in repeated repertoire
with dauntingly detestable words.
Taunted and tormented is my soul.
On and on it will dismally droll,
leaving me bewildered, lost in confusion
irritated with the infusion inside my head.
It's a plague, a dreaded curse...
a haunting that hovers as I lie abed.
I'm not demented or delusional.
If this is a callous collusion to drive me insane,
I beg deliverance from the echoing refrain
that takes me into the depths of despair,
leading me blindly as though it doesn't care
if I live or perish in the annals of an abyss.
I ask... what damnable deed have I done
that makes me bleed like this?
Is there no hope of suturing my wounds,
or eviscerating my harrowed heart?
If I could expunge the voice from my mind
would that ease the grief caused by the thief
who is hell bent on ripping my life apart?
Accusations spill from invisible lips...
from a tongue that blames me for horrid things,
leaving me grieving and bereaved
as if the voice is a goading gossipy mouth.
It's a conceived conspiracy,
a fallacious fallacy of falsehoods,
madly mocking me with condemnation.
It's branded me by burning my ears
with barbs that leave scars with its jeers.
Charred parts of me that will not heal,
my body is battered and bruised.
I'm sodden with tears as if from a deluge,
while over and over again the voice speaks out
with a commanding presence of clout.
Each tear cuts my cheek until blood seeps
from the crux of my soul.
Every drop falls at my feet in a scarlet flux.
Wracked with sobs, prostrate with weeping,
still the hissing voice berates me,
leading me further into silent shadows.
My head pounds from resounding jeers.
"I'm not guilty," I scream, even if it's a dream.
A vortex of eddies swirl at my bare feet.
I'm a helpless babe left alone on the street...
breathing shallow, but the voice will not fade.
Cold fingers reach for me
but no comfort do they bring
for the obstinate voice in the obsidian darkness
will not release its hellish hold.
When comes the hour of dappled Dawn,
I plead that she may take palpable pity on me
and touch me with golden rays of warmth.
I will linger as she softly whispers my name,
desperate that she can rid me of fear
and make the vilifying voice in my head disappear.
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