It didn't work

Of course it didn't. What the fuck made me think this would work?

I've been trying for the past few days to write down what I know. I'd look at a page of text and drawings, and then I would blink and everything would be reduced to scribbles. I don't even know which vision is actually what I put on the damn paper. I tried to show Chelsea, but it looked like she didn't understand. So I guess this means she sees scribbles, too.

I've also noticed something. The voices, the Choir. They're different. The voices from before, the ones that only came up when I stayed up too late, they said different things. In different ways.
They spoke so prettily
They said things that couldn't possibly be true.
They spoke only the truth
They said things that drove me to beat myself until I forgot them. Or at least the most important parts.
The only parts that matter
These voices, coming from the weatherman and newscaster, aren't driving me to madness.
They have no need to
I feel perfectly fine when listening to them.
When the insomnia allows it
I've been searching for the voices I used to hear. They knew something, at least. These voices are just trying to get me to do stuff. no, for the last goddamn time, I AM NOT GOING TO KILL CHELSEA. God fucking dammit. No, these voices are annoying. The other ones were maddening, but at least they told me stuff. Useful stuff. I think. I don't know. Maybe it's the fact they knew SOMETHING, and actually were willing to tell me what it was. I don't even care if I go insane, I want to know what they're saying. Maybe they knew a way to get rid of the Choir? Who knows? Anything is better than sitting on my ass all day.
What goes around comes around. What comes up must come down. No amount of fire will burn the sins of your past away.