Roads
I once knew a man,
Who knew of many men,
These weren’t men I could meet,
To only him they would speak.
He listened to them day and night,
As he slept their voices carried on,
A clear mind once was now plagued.
Try as he might,
They would not leave,
Despite all of the pleas,
Lonely but never alone.
He would often to speak to God,
And tell me of messages given,
“You’re going to Heaven.”
One of the other men,
This man acquired over time,
Would tell him to inflict pain,
Injuries only directed at himself.
The voice was a disease in itself,
Infused him with agony,
Stole away his pride and dignity,
This man was Roger Roads.
Inspired by a client diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.
