I sit here, in a room filled with voices.
I look to my right,
A soft whisper down my spine,
Speaking in a Latin tongue,
And to my left a rough, Boston accent,
Trilling away with a sweet melody.
Each voice has its own distinct sound,
But I can’t pick them out.
My eyes flicker around,
Looking for each voice’s keeper,
But I can’t keep up.
This room feels thick with whispers,
Too loud to think,
I look to the floor hoping to block them out.
They grow louder,
Not caring if I can’t think.
Won’t they just be quiet?
I feel my anger rising,
My blood starts to pump.
The adrenaline starts to kick in,
And I feel my fist start to clinch.
Why won’t these voices just stop?
As I finally get the courage to tell them to shut up,
The doctor walks in and says,
“Miss, it’s time to take your pill.”
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