after the voices

after the voices
came for the night,
then again
oh so rarely
broken up delusional now-and-agains...

after the voices
the world was not the same
because they'd been coffee-house real
and hard and sharp as steel...
menacing phantoms talking in turn
each causing pain
all generated by my own brain

after the voices
silence was not silence;
they were waiting in the walls,
waiting to call,
and what was their cue?

and what was my future?
what was I to do?
what crimes might I commit
while out of my wits?
or would I be harmless lunatic
my finely tuned intellect
eaten away
by the headless voices
and their endless play?

Well, they haven't come
in a while now
and I hope that that goes on.
I take some meds
and some other steps
that I hope will keep me sane.
but things will never
be quite the same
since I met the other things...
with which I share my brain