Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

In my head
voices speak,

Ingrid says,
each one suggesting

different things,
proposing I do this

or that, each voice
distinct from the other.

The Psychiatrist
pares his nails,

gazes at the photo
of his wife and kids,

the silver frame,
the wife with that stupid grin,

and the voice of Ingrid
grating on his ears,

like some whiny cat
shut out in the night

with the heavy rain.
In my head,

Ingrid says,
voices are beginning again.