He hears the voices; all his own,
and, yet, he still feels all alone.
Nobody else can hear them speak,
nor see their bodies when they peek.
The worse ones ask for violence,
and other things that don't make sense.
One says his sister needs to die,
but won't explain the reason why.

I hear him answer that he will.
The voice has asked, and he would kill,
except I intervene and say
let's wait until another day.
He says that voice inside his head
has asked his help to make me dead.
This man's my brother whom I love.
Sometimes he's peaceful as a dove.

He thinks my death would free my soul;
release my spirit from control
of Satan's forked and wicked tongue;
forgive the past for sins I've done.
I stare into his tortured face.
He shrinks away from my embrace.
He does so well while on his meds.
He's now controlled by talking heads.

I tried to keep this all discreet,
and took him in from off the street.
I've looked away for far too long.
I could not force him to be strong.
I feel sharp pain that's from a knife.
I feel the blood run from my life.
His face is smiling and so glad.
He's saved his sister who was bad.