Voices

That nagging voice is back again
telling me to pluck my brainstem
like a freshly picked dandelion

It’s been a few days, maybe weeks of it —
I can’t really tell, it always starts quiet
more like a polite suggestion
than the boorish demands made later

I’m exhausted from it, eyes blurry
as the voice presses my occipital lobe
threatening cortical blindness

Sunny days dwindle to dreary dark
to the point where I don’t know
where I am or where I’ve been

There’s no desire for a permanent solution
to a temporary problem, but man
am I sick of this all

I’d sleep more
if not for the nagging voice
keeping me up at night

But I will not give up my light
until it’s meant to go out
years from now when the wick
is old, tired, and full of stories

I will not give in to its pleas or trickery
of “peaceful” premature sleep that leaves
behind loved ones and unfinished business

To that nagging voice’s demands:
I refuse
I refuse
I refuse

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