houseguests

They’re doing it again

the voices in my head are

calling out that they are tired

a cacophony of sound, of voices in the crowd

push against the edges of my skull

plotting their way out

alas the gates – they’re bolted shut

the roads are more or less abandoned

leaving all of us stranded here together

we whisper as the morning sun appears

the closest I ever get to silence

but by afternoon, a low rumble begins to emerge

by evening, a chaotic jumble

of light and sound, and the energies of a thousand

voices unroll their sleeping bags and settle in

I used to beg for silence

consumed with the desire to be the only stream

of consciousness within my mind

now I worry I would be lonely without them