Brittle

The mania and the voices have returned once more, so in turn the poems have as well. They always have been there, both the poems and the voices but now stepped up to a notch not seen since simpler times. simpler times. Don't cry "I can't be saved." There is nothing to be saved from. Death is but a train, taking us to the next lonesome station down the line where there will be no one to greet you. We are all carbon. We are all the Earth. We are all the Universe.
Save your mourning. I will see you in the morning.
I will see you in the morning.