Picture perfect massacre. Desire gone rancid. I remember when I used to dream. I remember when I used to fake dreaming. I defect. Mayan rambling. Identity crisis. Give us faith, and kill us as we pray.

Angry despair.

What is inspiration? Inspiration is what gets me out of bed each morning. Inspiration is the reason I am able to shave and function normally. When inspiration is gone, I will probably be dead.

Creativity? Creativity is a disease. It is a disease I cling to. When it is gone, I will probably be dead.

Why all this talk of death? Death is natural. It must happen. Everyone will die. You will die. I will die. Why don't you want me talking about it? Why are you calling me morbid? Why am I addressing you? You never mattered before. Perhaps this is merely contemplative. Another dialogue gone wrong between the voices in my head. I have magic powers. I got them from these beans I bought.