I can’t see their faces.

Pitch black,

zero deciphering features.

Who are you?

Who am I looking at?

I used to believe

the bodies surrounding me

were those of loyalty,

kindness,

compassion.

Souls I would want to be around.

Nonetheless,

I find myself scratching at my face,

ripping at my eyes,

yanking at my hair,

screeching and yelping,

wishing for someone to hear me.

But their voices are always there

in the back of my head.

They won’t stop.

They will not stop.

No matter how many suppressants

I shove forcefully down my throat.

No matter how many times

I visit a therapist,

or tell my family.

All I get is stares,

almost like I am crazy.

It isn’t me.

it’s them.

Why does no one understand that?

Can’t you see them too?

Can’t you see them too?

I know they are there.

I know they are the reason

people look at me like I am manic.

But that is not me they are looking at.

They are friends,

aren’t they?

Doesn’t everyone have friends?

Why am I weird for having friends?

Everybody has them.

Quit looking at me like I am weird.

Quit looking at me like I am manic.

Quit looking at me like I am psychotic.

Quit looking at me.

Quit looking at me.

I press my hands

hard against my ears.

I can still hear them.

They won’t go away.

Their voices still linger.

Their screeching,

their pleading,

their squeaking,

their ear splitting words

won’t get out of my head

no matter how hard I push.

I don’t know what to do.

What should I do?

What should I do?

Why won’t they leave?

I don’t want them here.

I want the voices gone.

I can’t do this anymore.

Please make them go away.

Tear out my brain,

rip them out from inside,

twist their vocal chords.

Make them stop.

Just make them stop.

I promise I am not crazy.

I swear I am not.

Maybe this is just what it means

to have friends?