If everyone but me is dead, a demon,
or somebody else,
sanity becomes shear matter of faith
because a great illusion is summoned.

Artificial, transient, terrorist attack.

But if I ever wake up as someone else,
just know some sketchy shit went down.

For my focus groups are forgotten
if this world is a billboard,
if this life is a Truman show,
ratings should be the death of me.

If my thoughts are inserted,
God is a genius,
for if I’m Christ I’ll be forgotten.

Logic is a flacid sword.
Irony is a sharp pointed badge of honor.
In rock paper scissors a label beats all.
The dynamic is an animal study.

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