a beautiful, deranged mind...

Hundreds of little babbling voices in my head.
All wrestling for my span of attention.
Each one bringing his argument forth.
To convince me of why his idea aught to become alpha thought.

Its a melting pot rift with would be thoughts.
Inner demons stir up the concoction.
Not satisfied still, they fill it up some more.
Till the contents spill over. In doing so, impeding my speed of talk.
Faster and faster I speak, becoming pressed for thought.

That's why my dialect comes across as hasty and incoherent.
For my thought pot simmers with a million ingredients.
So I'm trying to serve you a million opinions.
As I think and deliver them through a single medium.

In the end everything which I say makes no sense.
Just random sentences devoid of a specific point of reference.
Although I know what I'm getting at,
I can never seem to verbally at it, if that makes sense.

As a result, Frustration bubbles on the inside.
An allergic reaction from failing to be concise.
The harder I try,
The more frustrating it becomes, as a slave to a vexed mind.

Nobody understands me!

Frustration itself and frustration of self boils over into manic anger,
From passive aggression.
Mutating into a grenade-esque temper.
Just a slip of a finger away from mass disaster.
Weather intentional or accidental.

Once the manic mind seizes control,
The mind slips on itself and in doing so- Looses its firm footing in reality.
Jumping head first into the murky bottle of impulsivity.
Or is that the bottle of liquor...

Like a werewolf transforming before the silent stillness of night.
Wailing and gnashing his teeth before the glare of the moonlight.
Drunken savage and violent.
Liquor bottle in tow as he hunts in the darkness, filled with the rage that bubbles on the inside

Early in the morning, sprawled across the bed.
The cock crowed thrice, as night skies heeded the warning and fled.
Waking up to find myself.
Surrounded by nothing but emptiness.
Stuck alone at the bottom of the empty bottle, just my demons and myself.

Hung over and haunted by the regrets which linger from the night before, damn!
Those same, very regrets,
Are being compounded more by others from past reminiscences and events.
Lashing my tongue at myself.
Swearing by God that last nights drink would be the last.

Yet today I lay here, surrounded by the empty bottle which I had drank.
Drunken and maimed, alone with the voices in my head.
Their murmuring cut deep as the thoughts ricochet off the glass.
I squeeze my ears trying to hear the feint voice of my true self.

Pressing my tongue against the bottles walls seeking,
To lick just one drop of liquor in order to calm just one demon.
That's when the sub- conscious steps in.

He's one of the coolest voices here.
The voice you share monologues with
He speaks, loud and clear.
Reminding me of who I'm supposed to be
But all that does is confuse me.
Cause its just another voice fighting for attention in here.
My mind is buckling and twisting, trying to figure out who to hear,
And who to render obsolete.

Who are these voices that torment me?
Why have they hunted me to be vexed?
Will I ever be freed to live as a normal man?
Or is this just the curse of the talented?

There's no succeeding when it comes to conquering these demons it seems.
So instead I relinquish my strength and will like a weakling.
If I can't face them,
I guess I'll have to embrace them.

Let's see what a coalition can accomplish,
If I were to live behind enemy lines, by joining forces...