It's a poem. You decide
Yes I am a peculiar sort,
I live on my own planet.
An alternate reality,
As fucked up as my sanity.
I must be guilty at this stage,
Of homicide in multiple numbers,
'Thou shalt not kill' the Bible tells,
But I'm still killing off brain cells.
Each time I put the literary gun to my head,
And pull the proverbial trigger,
It's like the initial thrill of an electric shock,
Trying to restart a heart that has yet to stop.
Back on Earth I guess this is around the time
That I would remove my finger from the plug socket
And go about my merry way,
With fully recharged batteries,
And a silent heart.