Question Sleep
God and I
have come to an understanding-
not that I don't believe in him,
simply that I-
don't believe in anything-
question everything.
Who does the sin belong to-
the twisted little shit
who invests small fortunes
and late nights reading
tragic humor; the artist
who invests late nights
and gains small fortunes
filling blank pages
with the graphic deaths
of small kittens-
the indulgence of narcoleptic,
necrophilic, fucken-twisted,
fantasies?
The world filled
with humorous tragedy;
the society that breeds
people to find it so.
Sometimes I get the feeling
that I'm actually writing
the same thing over and over
and still no one gets it.
Compulsive Insanity:
the repetition of a single action
with the expectation
of a different result.
Question sleep and never stop
moving. Believe the paranormal;
doubt the divine- rules to living
in paranoia.