Now a word on breathing

I find the more I breathe,
the easier it gets. When I was
an infant it was pretty
hard. When I’m dead
breathing should be a lead
pipe cinch. Know what?
See you in my coffin.

I'll be the life of the party
at my funeral. If I talk too
much about death then
you're a robot because
I'll be there in the
afterlife soaked in afterbirth
working on improving my typing.
Do they have blogs in Heaven?

I hope not. If so, kill me now.

Dear Devil,

Stop podcasting your nightmares into my day dreams. Ho-hum, you know?

Yawning,
me.

P.S. No one ever uses tire swings anymore. Read a fucking newspaper.