One day, I won't be able to write. I'll have no one around who remembers me before my mind goes home. I will be completely alone. I know I will be afraid, and I wish that those around me wouldn't lock me away. A wolf that becomes vulnerable gets slaughtered. Maybe that is okay because I can't think of any way I have made the world better. A broken psyche is not visible until it cripples the body with fatalistic emotions. If happiness and peace had a hell, anxiety and despair are there. Not as the only cause for pain but a mighty captain of it. I don't want to lie on those thin pad beds that smell of sanitizer, with one roommate so crazed that he goes from laughing to charging the ward until the alarms blare, unit three! Code grey! or whatever signals the Thorazine angels to usher off another mind gone home. This is the drama that is ignored because life is short. Minds that go home stay and the body must sit in the dark begging and rattling the chain. Hoping the heart can make up for what has gone away. So one day I will be cast to the sea and I will have to swim forever. I can't stop or I'll sink but I'll be afraid and tired. I hope that I can go home just as easily as my mind. The universe is not under an obligation to make these realities false. Biology tells the body how to survive but the mind can take you anywhere and no god, universe, spirit, soul, or man can make it pleasant. The universe that I see can also see itself in I and I am the universe, in which nothing makes sense but accepting that I am just as I am.