Writer's Lusting Schizophrenia - with NightGoddess

The devil’s scalpel cut a tracheotomy into my darkness, leaving me breathlessly seeking my writer’s moonlight. Lusting for twilight's little glass ampule, so sweet the cocaine of my cadaverous awakening.  
 
Fluttering the pulses, current rising through my veins, birth ensuing, “mommy” I cry out, hoping to master a single paragraph.  
 
Warming the circuitry of my sinister creation, deep in the folds of my morbid behavior, give rise to my consumption and fears. Feast on my obscurities and partake in the oppressions you are afraid to taste and for etiquette’s profit, delight in my Charlotte Russe.  
 
For your sake, I will write my mental contraband and present it safely in hard bound. It is not under this author’s celestial satellite which transforms me, not the devil’s lawlessness which illuminates my neurons, it is the awareness that my pain delights you. That knowledge feeds this newborn’s appetite.