Colours drip and thoughts collide,
the continuance of noise an ever-changing constant.
Hush now little one
for we will comfort you
in our familiar black hole.
Whisper fragments of abstract images into your mind.
Slowly driving you to the brink
until we are all you know.
Until we are all you believe.
Until we are all you trust.
Though you don't trust us at all.
With good reason, we suppose,
seeing how far we've pulled you from reality.
Yet you rely on us.
Why rely on the thing that will kill you?
The thing that has killed you.
You call us The Voices.
We are more than voices. We are everything.
We are fiction.
We are insanity.
Breathe, little one.
We have you.
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