The Voices Never Stop
They do not chase me, which is scary if you think about it.
Maybe if they would chase or tackle, it would be less eerie.
They wait for me in the drawing room, where I create art.
It’s a studio, some say but it is more than that.
It was my sanctuary until they arrived.
I tiptoe through the house when I return from work
A job that holds little interest, but pays my bills
because I have never found a patron or a king
I am holding my shoes, so I do not alert them.
Don’t open the door! My inner voices shriek.
I do though, because I want to be terrified
And terrorized, but alas, they are not here
Too early, my inner voice says. You can stop tiptoeing
Feeling foolish, I put my groceries down.
And get myself a little supper.
The ghosts are familiar, I saw their faces in the newspaper
About forty years ago, when their car plunged over a cliff
We were murdered! A voice screams from my studio
I wish now that I had taken a canvas out of there.
I could ran with it to my room and draw until the voices stop.
Maniacal laughter in my head reminds me. The voices never stop.
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