Childhood insomnia

It's 4:35 am and I'm definately not sleeping. My house is silent except for the heating that turns on everytime I start to drift off. Andrew's bleeding face stares at mine and Manson is praying over my shoulder. An eerie light is now penetrating the darkness. It's a strange glow produced by my monitor and the sound of keystrokes breaks the silence..it sounds kind of perverted. I used to have trouble sleeping as a child, I just couldn't stop my thoughts. They would race in and out of my head and it was almost as If I was being tortured. I'd start worrying that if I didn't fall asleep in the next ten minutes I wouldn't have enough sleep to get through the day. The days were longer when I was younger. Sometimes I would sit in bed and think about the most horrific events that I possibly can, just to see if they come true in my dreams. Today my brother was stabbed in the stomach with a switch blade, tommorow my mom will get mowed down by a Buik Century while walking me to the park. We used to look forward to getting ice cream, now we look forward to getting wasted. I would get so upset by these ridiculous images that I conjured up for no reason at all. Back then I was still learning, I was still looking forward to knowing the world and traveling to foreign places. This was still a new place and I was still looking for my own corner to occupy. It's 4:57 am, I am wearing boxers with little yellow ducks on them and when I wake up I will brush my teeth with a spider-man electric toothbrush. Some people would probably think Im regressing, that I'm trying to hold on to my youth. Why would I want to be some fucked up kid who dreams about his family dying and gets worried over such trivial things as mild sleep deprivation? I start remembering the most awkward things when I sit down and put my hands to the keyboard. In the sixth grade I told Kristen Waters that I liked her, and it scared the shit out of me. I thought about it all day until lunch time when I strategically approached her on the way back from Bella's pizza place on 93rd street. We used to give each other valentines with folded construction paper hearts, now we give each other herpes.

The holy water is poison

Your words are like a .45 caliber infatuation. Splattering my soul against the off-white backround in my temple of masochistic desire and ritualistic deity denial. Today, you are a god because I can feel your presence as it takes away my innocence. I need you more than you need me. I'd give anything to see you here once again, sustaining my limber disposition. You could grasp my fate with a kiss and stop my breathing with one simple conviction. One sin to prepare for a world of decadence. I no longer miss you. I want you dead. I want to see the body, decayed and six feet under the wasteland junkyard of a burned out meth lab in the dirtiest of towns in the center of an AIDS epidemic. Maybe the black plague would be more suitable for my demise, you always insisted on tearing my flesh away. Your touch was sodomy to its greatest extent. If a killer can plead temporary insanity, why can't I?