Category Archives: Scribbling Insanity

My Evil Pen Told Me To Write This 4


sanity-insanity-street-signs-voices-in-my-head-pix

My Evil Pen Told Me To Write This 4

Tell me your nightmares, feed me your fears, come dance with the devil, drown in my tears. Sway in the spectrum prism prison; hallucinate with me within the breathtaking shades, colour-blind. We’re not here right now, they can’t see us. Caught in the rain, suffocating in misery, pillow my pains. Dribble my emotions and dunk them in the hole in the ground, a winner in the game of life. I am one of a kind, the last of my species; did I reach birth to conquer my own doubt? Waltz with me in my watery grave, hand me a tissue before my war paint runs. I am a writing mosquito; I suck the life instantly from the page.

My friends in my head are talking behind my back, sticking paper to my spine, break me! I am influencing my evil core, even more than you, when I caught you stealing my soul. Lick your lips and kiss me your love, I will pocket your face for later. I am unleashing the beast within, click goes my pen and I never see you here again. I write so much because in truth I speak in tongues, douse me in holy water again. Carrying my cross to work, to Wal-Mart, back to my girlfriend’s house, I need to get nailed quickly, I am sick of waiting.

We’re rich from welfare cheques; throw your food stamps in the air with me, poor us? Poor you! You can almost taste my bittersweet desperation. My heart is broken with no guarantee of love; I fumble, fidgeting my fingers to fix it.  My mind is crowding, I am trying my darndest to push through to you. Knock – Knock! Am I disturbing you yet? Slicing over antique wounds, history will be remembered and the future is bloodcurdling, more pain in store for me to shop over. I’m captivating this world in a page of writing, no one writes as me anymore.  The end of the world is nigh, it has been written in my DNA cells and also my padded cell walls, in suicidal blood.

Box my voice and ink my feelings, colour crayon my insanity and jagged cave my phobias. Reality isn’t my way; contamination has ventured the world’s atmosphere. Cancer candidly coffins my family ancestry; I am the only one in this house who is the true definition of two-faced. To me, sanity is randomly rancid when stranded in my nostrils, a frostbitten brain which shards to pieces if held. There is no sun in this city, hell has frozen over; everyone zombies the wintry streets. Body-bag the bad bad thoughts, label them toe to toe. Download my downhearted emotions in this war-torn lovelorn underworld. I need my imaginary friends to talk with.

I have to keep trekking through this fire.

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Filed under Blog, Blogging, Creative Writing, Life, Literacy, Misc, Scribbling Insanity, Uncategorized, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

This Pen Is a Monster; It’s The Only One That Gets me!


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This pen is a monster; it’s the only one that gets me!

I’m coming for it all, one last stand on every piece of paper, crumple it up and use them as bombs or make myself paper aeroplanes. Extremists, Haha! Please… I’m an extreme extremist; I eat terrorists as if they were bubble-gum, see what I did there? I just blew-up another one. Pop! I’ll be waiting here forever on these pages; a pen as my gravestone, a bunch of blunt pencils as flowers and a papier-mâché coffin.  I’m throwing sucker-punches at this page but this isn’t the bible, less holy! My life stinks, I can’t even afford to pay my water bill; I’m the stinky-kid. Help me, I’m a writer! What have I gotten myself involved in? I’m sick of this life; this must be the withdrawal from sanity. What can I do with this life except become a writer; there a light-bulb has just switched on, turn it off! This headache is getting worse. My words jump straight off the page, don’t they? Beware they could blind you.

Lit-Happens-Title

This whole big bad world has nothing on me, why do you think I peeled off my own skin? I wanted to become appealing to everyone. You cannot do what I do; you can only do what I cannot do, which is stop and fail. I’m now stabbing my eyes with my pen, so I can really see what I am writing for you. Can you see passed my words and see the light? Here, let me put this computer over your head. This is what I’m meant for; to me it’s as if I’m carving my name in cement. It’s that easy!

So throw all your pens up in the air, blacken out my Sun, no matter; I write in the darkness. Human emotion is my only kryptonite; it radiates through and clouds my vision, I just have to remember I’m not human. I live in this pen, I live in these words, now you have read me; I’m on your mind – my job is done. Don’t blame my mother; she did her best to raise Hell! From every litter you must have a runt, that’s me. I’m Mr. Brightside though; I must have rolled on my side on this hellfire. I could always count my blessings in life but I’m a writer, I don’t deal in numbers.

when you start getting resentful

I sleep with this pen every night; I think I have contracted ink-poisoning, it’s life-threatening with every word I scribble. Fame is in a frame on my mantle, I’m in love with her but she is too busy satisfying other people but I will be the love of her life, until we’re both dead! I bucking-bronco off all of my mental baggage, I’m sick of carrying all of the dirty laundry; they call me a pig-headed ass!

there is evil within us

Why are you asking me to leave? I don’t even live on this world. These aren’t words, they are only spasms I suffer with, so what exactly are you reading? That’s right, nothingness. Why are you here? You could be writing screenplays, you could be living your perfect life, you could be making money; don’t do what I’m doing, I’m doomed!

On a scale of one to five, in women’s eyes, I’m usually number 4. Why do you think I never step forward in this line up? I don’t want to be underrated. But I did it! It’s like a murder he wrote.

I burst into laughter every time I read my journal, my life is such a sick-joke it’s actually funny. I can’t talk to some people, I get more sense from talking to brick-walls, so I did that and they tried locking me up for that too.

A problem shared is a problem doubled, my words can be infectious. Does Alex live here? Sorry, his upstairs is vacant. This pen is a monster; it’s the only one that gets me. We’re all prisoners behind this mortar; I’m reaching through the brickwork to show you I’m still alive.

rejection

And as soon as my stars have aligned, you can then watch me as I shoot! Because I’ll be a Superstar.

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Filed under Scribbling Insanity, Writing