I want to write.
I've put it off for such a long time. Demons have always wandered through the graveyards in my mind and I've always longed to give them a voice. Is it wrong to record the thoughts of one so corrupt? So full of darkness.
But then, there are many authors with the mark.
The great American novel? No...what a bore that would be. Who would want to read the endless drivel of one American life. Heh. I guess they do.

Still, I want to taste it. I want the rains to shower my face under the moon. I want to feel the devil's serpent tongue tickling my ear. My fingers will rush and quicken themselves without tiring to complete this essay of immortality. The red is running over the pages like blood from a gushing wound. Should it turn green, I'll amputate the limb but stew it for a supper that would last me a lifetime.
Godless. Endless. Forever amen. God...I wish it was over. I don't understand why we have so many years. They say time is short. I think it drags. I think it sucks itself from between our legs. Life is a miserable whore. God I love it. My true inspiration to put on my boots, slide into those familiar leather pants, shimmy into my pure garments baptized in the colognes of random strangers on the street. The green marks?
Nah...not grass. Money. Even money can rub off when ground into the mattress under my stomach.

Alright, clearly I'm not all there. Clearly, sleep is important afterall. I'll go see Master. He'll make it feel better. In pain he opens my eyes. With one swift, sharp kick to the face, he shows me passion leaking from my broken lip. Ah God...I want it again.

So....what to write about.