Voices

They cut the wounds I bleed from

as if they could ever heal

and they still scrape at my nerve endings

as if I could even feel.



There is no hope for us

because we are slowly dying

and while they said it wouldn't hurt,

we knew that they were lying.



And I still dream of days before

they surgically removed my voice

while I'm smiling and I'm nodding

like I even had a choice.



And the knives are just as sharp

but I do not feel a thing.

I think that I once loved you,

but now it has no meaning.



Well, I held you close

and we both cried

while they televised

our suicide.



I think it's almost done.

This is the last I've bled

and all the while I'm hearing

the voices of the dead.





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