The sound of her voice reminds me of a song,
that makes me long for her warmth,
like an idiot drowning out the dissonance of my demons.
The sound of her unstained laughter,
the sound of her sentimental cries,
the sound of her softened whispers,
the sound of her endless complaints,
the sound of her annoying sighs.
How does a voice become a poison?
When the memories toy with your vision?
When food reminds you of dinner dates?
Or when every time you turn the corner, you hear her calling out your name?
Helplessly trying to seek its person,
my body shudders and my stomach writhes at the wistful voice in my head.
Will this cycle ever end?
"You know she's dead."
Will this incorporeal toxin eventually kill...
...all the remaining inner voices I had?
Am I actually... mad?
Will her voice... ...ever be... ...real again?
Is there a cure to this kind of malaise?
How does a voice become a poison...
...when it sweetly hums a warm song,
slowly dragging me into an empty void...?