This   piece   deals   with   the   inner   war   that   plagues   everyone   at   one   time   or   another.   Listen   to   this   voice.

They're in my hollow head, echoing, vibrating a tirade.
I don't need anyone to tell me of my sins, they know the list.
Their jabbering sounds like me, but they don't obey etiquette.
Uttering curses at my friends, at God, irreverent with my emotions,
blasphemies and fantasies I would never share with sane people.
They make it practice and habit, leaving me no sleep, only damnation.
I'm the one that asks for redemption, not the liars that rip at my anger.
Disembodied mind torture, answering to no one but their whipping waltz.
Feels more like slam-dancing than romance, a kiss of black widow.
Never resting, slivers of madness, my madness, relieved only by coma.
They talk about me, upping the paranoia, why can't I control my own brain?
If stopping them was an act of will, either I'm buried dead,
gone from Light's tenderness, or they've won, letting me exist.


Paul J. Lavins
finished 2-15-99.

Returning to other matters...