They say it’s what you make I say it’s up to fate It’s woven in my soul I need to let you go Your eyes, they shine so bright I want to save that light I can’t escape this now Unless you show me how Last night I mentioned my friends, the voices, have returned. My choice of words may have startled/worried some of you (one of you, actually). Whenever I speak of voices, in the plural sense, I’m talking about – for lack of a better word – muses. While I “hear” voices, I’m not hearing voices. Words run through my blood. I breathe them out. Woven into my metaphorical soul. My alarm clock, waking up in the middle of the night spilling…