Ask Not. Get Out.
The bell tolls. What for this time?
Maybe it beckons my soul to the underworld.
It becomes less harrowing. Almost a whimsical chime.
Memories and the noise. They’re mine. Safely furled.
Unbeknownst to me. The sound is in my head.
Once soothing. Soon becomes a cacophony of madness.
Chime. Again. Ding. Again. Singing such dread.
Too. Far. Gone. I think. Yet fight the sadness.
Shut up. Stop ringing. Get out. Please.
To think you were once pleasant. A safe haven for me.
I’m sorry. Too much of anything becomes a disease.
Small tears. Remaining constant. Soon become a sea.
My madness has no method. My mind no key.
Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.