Episode I Poem by Joan Fontanilla Balmania

Blame the voices for being awake at this time of the night
Night. It's 2: 30 in the morning. Sweet dreams to all.
Who cares what time is it?
The sun is still shining at the far side of the Earth
Earth. Isn't it where you want to be?

The darkness. As you lay.
As its loose tangible material touches your face
Your legs. Your body. It covers you. You close your eyes.
Are the voices still there?
Yes they are.
Voices. The voices love you.
They long for the neurons in your brain
They know you. You can't hide from their spying eyes
And in a proper timing they know when to tell you
To stop believing.

Believing. And believing you still do? Stop trusting moron.
I suppose you still don't learn your lessons.
Lessons. Lessons you refuse because you are guilty.
You are sinful.
When someone knows the truth and not do it, it's a sin.
You know about that. Don't you
But pleasuring yourself, yes, that's cardinal.
You do it again. And again. And again.