Crazymaker

I am ruled by my parapraxis 
I: Prophet and Pariah
And the only words that grace my tongue are 
Lies
From the Goddess of Psychosis 
So paralytic of an entity
Our worship averts other people's eyes.
I’m partisan for Torment
Whose sharp words beget a promise
that is paronym of hell and heaven, both
Our insanity; some paragon
for living without what we're not
affliction blamed for why we're never home,
 we’re always stoned
 and we’re
Push/pulled by paranoia 
but we're otherwise alone in here
Outside communication with dark retribution sown
Is a catatonic gift of Taunting whispers, 

Scornful moans