Jun 21, 2024
Van Gogh
There are voices In my head.
They curl around my ears, and leave through my tears.
Always been part of me.
I am never able to breathe.
When I eat they speak
“Is that too much?”
Grades on paper
“Can’t you do better?”
Mirror on the wall
“Aren’t you a ball.”
Venting to my mother
“What a whiner”
Slicing across my skin
“Go again”
Now I understand Van Gogh.
Cutting off my ears to silence the spears.
Only to be in vain.
The voice is a part of me.
It can never leave.
High standards will be the death of me.
