The chase and the voice

The chase and the voice

It's never been this loud before, 
my hands are clenching my head. 
It's making me want to run, 
I'm at A&E waiting for a psych bed. 
And this is the loudest the voice has been. 
It's horrible, nasty, evil.
The words, sometimes muttered, sometimes shouted. 
The demands given are nasty, dark and exhausting. 
But there's a pull, because it takes over, 
and in that moment I can't rationalise, 
so the voices wins.
And on this occasion I run. 
I run because it tells me to run. 
And theres a chase. 
There's a chase because I'm a danger to myself. 
But the voice is loud. 
The voice is unkind.
The chase, 
by the doctors and nurses is undramatic, 
but slightly eventful 
and I cry
and the nurse hugs me
and the chase is over. 
This repeats itself
again, 
again, 
and again. 
Just like the voice does,
again, 
again, 
and again. 
I'm sorry
again, 
again,
and again.
But the voice is not sorry.
It carries on, 
relentless, 
and it takes over,
and I have no control. 
And it's the voice that wins
and the chase that wins
as they catch me
and bring me back into the hospital.
Everything else is winning, 
not me, 
I'm not winning. 
The battle is tough, 
the voice is loud
and the chase is real.