My Talking Head

There was this one day when I called this the multifaceted dream. 
It was a wrong dream. 
A dream I created to find some peace.
I wanted to quiet the screechers in my head. 
The drowners and the haunting. 
The livid and unashamed.
The hungry and the unfinished.
They all screech at me.
I've listened so deeply to their screech that I've felt the monster they wanted to create out of me.
And I thought of money.
And I thought of beauty.
And I thought of greed.
And I thought of lust. 
The ones in between are all there.
Just like the rest of the others that you wouldn't even think of. 
I submerge into them, and I have, consequently. 
These creatures, these screechers.
It's like they're living in me to get me to want to be dead.
And they're fucking fantastic.
I'm screeching the calls for my own death.
That  fated moment. 
They're beside me so tightly. 
Like particles I breathe in.
They've turned me, and I'm indulgently screeching.