Category Archives: Eminem

The Syllable God – Poem


Creative writer - alex kennedy

The Syllable God – Poem

In front of this Lunar Eclipse,

This let loose humanoid lunatic turns mutant,

A grade-A student bullying school kids with the coolest new kicks,

Your Jiu-Jitsu flips are my amusement, your life is now truant, stupid!

Acoustic screams equipped to my new movement of music,

I’m on the run as a fugitive from their crucifixes,

Come to grips with this,

I want no part of your religion because you’re not fixing shit!

The movement I move in, so smoothly I’m moving,

It’s useless to copy; no no-body can stop me,

As I am a robotic computer, running solely on microchips,

Batteries not included,

Typos living at the end of each fingertip,

I can’t can this as a can of tuna fish,

You’ll need a tank and butane-gas to attack this nuisance,

Because I’ve just gained a new sense called no sense,

I’m merely giving lucid word pollution as a broken world solution,

So let all the new become ruins,

Light a fire under this world, do it and I will run through it,

I am emergency-calling your next-of-kin,

Maybe I’m talking articulate shit again, in which my tongue is too fluent in,

So get ready for some turbulence,

Because I’m bringing back the best of sin,

Before I am running for that border,

And become a Mexican citizen,

In 20 years when I am old and grey,

I’ll still be the same,

Even when I’m KING!

 

Alexander Kennedy – Creative writer

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NAIL IN MY COFFIN – POEM


NAIL IN MY COFFIN – POEM

Arm-wrestling with adolescence,

I can’t count my blessings,

As I’ve never been blessed,

My life has always been a chess-game,

That or a test, now I’m back at it again,

Grab myself a pad and a pen to be the baddest again.

Now I have a kid on the way,

Where there’s a will there’s a way,

“He’s crazy!” They’ll say…

I will kill for this day,

Now put this drill to my brain and rip out the sane.

For the past year I’ve been living in dark corners,

Shark waters; where I flash forward to happier callings,

Eyeball bawling,

Relapsing solely but these pills are so lonely.

Gotta’ do it for them, as my Dad never did,

“Alex, you’ll flip again… This is never-ending!”

I’m running from my devils,

What is heaven sending?

At God-Speed, have hope for me,

I’m more in-need of it before this corners me,

I wish I were a younger me, not hungry,

Not to put these pages under-siege with this thunder in me.

So let me sail the seas and swim with the dolphins,

Make my endorphins spin uncontrollably,

And help me bang in the nails of this coffin.

I’m all in.

 

 

I AM SLOWLY coming back….

Alexander Kennedy

http://www.youngadultfictionblog.com

 

 

 

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What Did I Just Write? What Was I Thinking?


2014 Alex kennedy

What did I just write? What was I thinking?

The jags from their stares wrench and echo beyond my eyes, their eyes are now chock-a-block with a monster. I invert my own look towards a daydream away from this pit of despair I helped dig for them. Hands clenched within my pockets, they will never know how close they had come to a detrimental dental demise. I tell myself, they lie through their teeth, smash through those pearly whites and find self-satisfaction within the truth.

Raise Hell!

They’re coming to take me away to the funny-farm; I’m up-in-arms, hooray! The dark clouds are forming above; Hells-mouth is foaming for a taste of me beneath, especially when I drive my evil pen through these skinned sheets. They call me bad names, they call me ugly, that’s okay, because so are you! How I sleep well with my disfigurement? I dream of killing you! I’m prising open hell; you’re all men of God, have faith in me when I say, I’m a man of my words. Now the world of words should have begged my momma to boil this baby at birth.

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I’m the writer the good book looked-upon and shook fear from their every praying nook. I see words differently; they could be definitively disastrous definitely, defacing dimensions infinity infamously from the dragon inside me, diminishing dabblers dripping ink trying to deign diamonds. (That rhymes…. Fools.) YOU’RE IN MY WORKSHOP!!! I cycle down the path of a serial killing psychopath; reading recycled crap, redial that, RECYCLED CRAP!

pics of me for my blog 3

I’m done being the nice guy, time to write or time to die, lost my fights and ran for my life. This is the return of Alexander Kennedy, the evil pen strikes back. Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream, make it the most gruesome that these people have ever seen. What am I thinking? What am I writing? Alex, there is a method to your madness, can’t you see? I’m starting a war against humanity, sanity is the culprit and it must be smudged clean from this spirally flushed floating toilet.

there is evil within us

Bring you picket signs, pitchforks and lit torch, gather round, gather round the monster writer of the century. Sane people fear what they don’t understand and cannot control; I don’t play well with others, why do you think since I grow teeth they kept me caged up? I can out-write you all with my left arm tied behind my back. I cannot rub out these words, like when the world tried to rub out this mistake. I auto-corrected myself and picked up a dictionary for meaning for the word, Pain.

I learned a few more bad words along my way; I don’t need swear words to curse at you. I write you into my world and let the ground swallow you whole. An emptied soul and a mind full of poetic words help formulate a plan beyond insane proportions. I peel my skin and try to fit in, but sooner or later they find new ways to get to me, further under my skin. So I put my faith and collective insanity and create a fictional world, where human rules do not apply, only the evilness that seeps from me. So I will slog my way through the slutty, semi-silent but slithering away siren ridden streets for some sort of success. I will figure out a way to pull your eyeballs out to my blog; and once I am in your minds, I will manipulate my way to the top of the food chain and then start to munch my way down the pyramid.

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So you can blame Eminem for giving me a second chance at life; Or you can blame my mother for giving birth to me. But it is society in a whole that failed me, pushed and pulled me to my own extinction, this is not an attitude problem, this is manmade evil. I’m your Frankenstein monster, you do not wish to confront. But just know I will take everything from you. This is all I know. This is my design.

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I scrape my nails across my face,

Self-hate has set sail for that new place,

A doomed fate,

The world is clueless to this,

It’s as easy as tying my shoelace.

One thousand screams,

Confounded dreams,

Come huddle round my murder scenes,

Doctors try to de-feather me,

But they looked further in me,

And heard him climbing.

Now I’m breaking free,

They took everything from me,

Here’s their severance pay,

For all eternity.

Living in this glass cage,

Stopping me from a rampage,

But this is my bat-cave,

I’m planning your last days,

While you’re in the fast lane,

On this world as a bad stain,

The world will have a bad day,

Now watch as I make the glass break

And come around your way.

 

 

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I’m Losing Touch with Reality – Random Photos of me


pics of me for my blog 3

I tear into this page with terror,

I penetrate my fate with a diabolical pen,

Dip into my thoughts of blood-ink forever with this feather.

I go to work and put on an act,

I hold a girl only to get her in the sack,

I hold my tongue when people talk about me behind my back,

And I’m still crazy inside.

The horror scenes from my street cornered of crimes follow me to sleep,

Will I one day wake up dead?

Steal my pen!

Trouble has a way of stalking me,

Rocking me rapidly, attacking me, grabbing me, flooring me, throwing me, burrow below me,

My writing takes over to cause a supernova,

I’m taking no more of the same boring rota,

So get ready to see what I have become so far…

pics of me for my blog 4

I’m living forever, I will die as a blogging dead writer; the haze of pipedreams will eat my illumining soul and corrupt naturally my calm nature nastily. I’m flying off the walls as this is coming off my chest, as a child I ate crayons now as an adult I am chewing on the end of my pen, not much has changed. Maybe this writing business is for me, the page is laid out before me, puke. This website is my last stand and my words are my last resort, I catch-a-phrase and head back the way. Fill these pages with shock value to fill those pockets with evil money to enrich that soul full of peace, I need a piece please. I’m losing touch with reality because I’m thinking thoughts; won’t you step into my fantasy world?

Pics of me for my blog 2

I’m done praying for archaic change,

I’m changing lanes faster than I can age in the face,

Where I’ll be in five years?

A writer if it’s my fate, if only I don’t die here.

I only have a glimmer of hope,

A pencil sharpener to butcher words as I go,

I’m simply the best character I have every wrote,

Break my soul apart and turn my words into stone.

Tribal Tattoo

Standing in front of this mirror mimicking lip-syncing death-threats to myself, I’m living in a living hell. These pages give me the key to leave hells grip on me, now I will never fail now. This blog is my playground, if you push me, I am swinging! See these words through the world of a wonder. That’s why they call me Alex Kennedy, I write venomously but if you extract the remedy, you will live to see another day. True evil has no gender, so I think I shall wear the crown.

Pics of me for my blog 1

And to all who are down here reading this, yes, all of these pictures are me. I thought it was about time I showed my face. Haha! Alex

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What Types Of Writers Are There?


creative-writing

What Types Of Writers Are There?

Now for this writing article I know I will not be featured on Freshly Pressed nor any other family orientated weblog, I have good reason though. I have to show all if the writers out there about finding an angle for their writing and yes, this will have foul language, so if you think bad words are corruptible then I suggest you look away. If you would like to further your writing knowledge that is rather dire for you to become an awesome writer, keep reading my sane friends.

Okay in my opinion you have ‘The Gracious Writer’ and ‘The Hard-Hitting Writer’ both utterly unique and critical within the writing industry. Which one are you?

I will start off by portraying a hard-hitting writer, what they do and how they affect readers.

Now Hard-hitting writers are the ones who are not afraid of words, such as Rap artists, psychology/horror/epic/sci-fi screenwriters to the same genre of novelists and short-story writers; such as Stephen King (The legend) Eminem (My Hero!) James Cameron (Great movies, dude.) Shane Black (I love all your films) Dan Brown (The DaVinci Code was the shit!) Edgar Allen Poe (Not bad my friend, not bad.) There are some more but I would be here all day listing writers.

I will show you along-the-lines of what a hard-hitting writer does.

‘Jackson bursts through the main doors with a wamble from his shooter. The shine of hell turns furnace within his eyes. The pain from each of his family members keeps him moving forward into the path of a thousand bullets that hole him.

“Die, you motherfuckers, you deserve this and more!” He bawls from his hell to the heavens. Death does not become him as he takes on the role as his server.  The blood that seeps from him doesn’t slow Jackson down; it is his rage that keeps him marching forward.

The room floods with god-fearing men and jumping bullet casings that soon lay still beside the bodies Jackson is wafting into an endless-sleep.

All Jackson can smell is the tinge of discharged weapons and burning skin as the hot metal pierces through blood with revenge. As the last bullet is fired from Jackson piece an eerie silence of the chokes and gargles of hemorrhaging and squeaks of pain are all that warm the room.

Jackson walks over to a dying foe, uncaring and lost within his stare.

“We-We… were just …doing our job, you and your family just got in the way, man.” The death-gripped challenger falters.

“And now, I’m just doing mine. Tell the devil I’ll be seeing him soon, you piece of shit.” Jackson lifts his cannon with no life and ends his enemies.

Are you starting to see the big picture now? Two types… That’s all we have. Now a Gracious Writer is the type to be very poetic in writing, attention to deal is crucial to the whole story and above all else they are very focused on each piece of work.

Such as J.K.Rowling (Love Harry Potter) Stephanie Meyers (Edward Cullen you’re so hunky!) 50 Shades of Grey (Not for me, but women seem to like it. Plus I have done better stuff than that.) And so on….

Here you go with my take on a Gracious Writer. Tell me what you think.

Each blink is too long and each beat is too much to cage and bare, so I shall rip off my eyelids to keep you in my sight’s a little longer and tear through my chest and place myself as a sacrifice to the goddess of my inner war. My lips become unworked and dry without your pressure and I wonder and pace in circles to this addiction called you, your essence or smoke clings to my lungs, I know each inhale is deadly but the remembrance will one day be my murderer. I know you have found your feet and walked the ground you stood on but you left a blood-trail when you drove your hand through my ribs, clasped your fingers around my heart and dragged it off to the unknown, thank you.

I have tried to rip and burn the photographs of you but your witchcrafting spells are protection against your stillness towards the weak. It feels as if I am chained to a monstrous mountains peak of snow and I am kneeling at its feet, tortured to watch the skies clouds that have now been replaced with images of our better times and precious seconds. There was no Cupid with a bow and arrow only a silent thief with a dagger. No medical diagnosis or prescription to help me now, the only answer it to go cold turkey, the oldest of remedies and cures but it will surely almost destroy me as you have ripped out my insides, cooked them and now I am ready to carve. The thought of you make me throw-up, not in a sickening way to your portrait but fear, anxiety, frustration and anger, those are the invisible fingers down my throat. Thank you, Love.

So there you have it, one more step towards a Literary Agent. What do you think? Tell me.

Keep those pens busy!

Alex

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