Hearing voices,
of my friends who hate my mum,
whispering threats,
pleas to get a gun,
sounds of spectres
of hate and rage and distrust,
I fight a constant battle
my Doctor says I must.
They say I must be clever,
the best brains have friends who advise,
and on and on do they ever
but the dullest sickest sayings
come breezing from their mouths
which, unseen but constant prickings
are urging me again
to ignore the real reality
and seek to ease the pain.
To some they come with music
and others whilst mixing paint
and some get friends from foreign governments
who urge loss of self-restraint
whilst sending written messages
through newspapers in code
push my mind across the precipice,
from the edges of the road.