• 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.”