The Voices

Look down, See the blood on my hands, Cuts on my wrist, From where it all descends. On the ground, Knife on the floor, Pick it up, Because they want more. They like the red, They like the heat, They like how it feels When blade and skin meet. It's not my choice, But no one gets it, They think I'm crazy, I get no merit. The voices, They control me, I commit the act, Thoroughly. The voices, They are convincing, Just look at my skin, That's what I am mincing. I cover the scars, Because no one can know, I need to be good for my parents, As they watch me grow. Keep my grades up, Get scholarship money, Because to them, That's sweeter than honey. They almost see, My heart kicks back, My lungs just stop, It's a panic attack. I crawl to my room, Alone in need, Cry to myself, The voices are freed. "Do it again, You know you love it, Pick up the knife, You're not above it." I can't say no, Because they are right, It's that true fact, That gives me my fright. My parents come, Hear knocks on my door, I throw my knife And myself on the floor. I hear them call, "Hello? Are you there?" That's when I cry Out in despair. "I'm here, Alone and scared, Are you here To see how I've fared?" Then they just laugh, I fell for it again, It was the voices, Not physical men. The torture I withstand, Cannot be normal, But I cannot go out, And not be formal. I have to pursue The look of average teen, Without the benefits, The privileges, I mean. That was three years ago, Since then I've learned to cope, They still whisper to me, All I can do is hope. Hope that they've lost control, Or that I've gained it, Or hope that in 5 years I have maintained it. Hope that my scholarship, Of $10,000, Gives me a better life, Mixing with the scholars. Hope that my upward life Will not spiral down, I've worked too hard, To take this leap and drown. It is possible to win This impossible war, But in the end, I am still sore. Was it worth it? Well, if you ask me, I'll tell you to ask... My Master's Degree.