I know you can't hear how my voice changes.
There's not much to hear, after all.
I have never sounded right to you,
And all you hear is my fake chipper mood.
But in my head, there's a voice you don't know.
A voice that tells what to do,
Tells me secrets about you.
Are they true?
They aren't true.
But that voice that you don't know convinces me it's real,
That it's not mine,
That it's not wasting my time.
It refers to me as "you" as if I don't own it.
A second person perspective in a one-person story.
Do you hear it too?
Do you have one too?
There's a fine line between the sound of the voice through my mouth and the ones in my head.
Do any of them remind me of you?
Do any of them remind me of me?
Are they real?
Which ones are real?
One hates me, one loves me, one never treats me the same,
But they're all the same person,
They've all got the same name.
Do you have them too?
You probably don't, because you don't know that my nice voice is fake.
The voice you hear is soft and clear,
But my real one is rough and scratchy.
The ones in my head are a mesh of the two,
And I never know which one to choose.
Should I sound soft? Or scary?
Violent? Or sweet?
I don't know if any of these voices belong to me.