Voices.

...and they come and go in melancholic whispers, causing my aching membrane to reverberate intermittently. Shallow, cold and empty, those voices wile themselves deftly around my outer core - bitterly searching for an entrance; a weakness...

A second devoid of control enables the hinged door of sanity to reluctantly open, and, without a hesitant or brief nanosecond, and, with a mocking laugh they slide in leaving a trail of compulsiveness to putrefy and ferment. Their poisoned voices are lying stealthy vixens, which now they reside in my mind, sharp stained yellow and teal. The grey matter is dense and they become glued, fixated upon the minds crevices, clawing and scratching with gnarling hisses - no trace of DNA for they are mutations of something far beyond the realms of the human psyche....to be continued.