The things I cannot see plague me
Out of the corner of my eye
I still cannot see them
Haunting the crevasses between thoughts
The voices in my head speak incessantly
Telling me to do strange things
Sometimes I cannot refuse them
But I always wish for silence
The monsters wearing my skin venture out
After the sunset and the moonrise
The allow me not to sleep
They allow me not to truly be alive
Tell me – do these things make me crazy?
Or am I crazy
For doing nothing about them?
Context: The picture is of a plague doctor from back in the times when they had the Black Death and such.