"I'm wide awake." Sings Three.
"I'm exhausted." Scowls Five.
Two, together, different in
Personality, Style, Means of coping.
"Write it out." Urges Three.
"PUNISH YOURSELF." Screeches Five.
Three appears the logic,
But only to the naked eye,
For she's the scars as well.
Battle scars from years that past.
Though her head's on straight
For now.
Five, the Troublemaker.
Takes over as Three slips.
Almost maternally.
Watches out of me,
Gently coos.
Though I'll pay for it later.
Later, when I'm all alone.
And she won't let me sleep.
They bicker.
"She's trying so hard." Pleads Three.
"I see no results." Argues Five.
I grow silent in their presence,
Watching them grow and shrink,
Revising me, Planning me, Making me real.
Preparing me up perfect.
Are they each others strength?
Or downfall?
"She needs food, she runs" Nudges Three.
"She'd better run." Whispers Five.
I conquest for the voice of reason.
End up disappointing all.
Fearing myself, my insanity.
I worry of the day I grow tired
And slit my throat to quiet them.
