Tag Archives: Business

When I Grow Up I Want to be a Monster

Varulv (Werewolf)

Varulv (Werewolf) (Photo credit: fmmr)

When I Grow Up I Want to be a Monster

Rocking back and forth under this storm,

Hold me back from my homes front door,

A blood rose has winged poison thorns,

At long last I hold hands with the cold,

Come down from the stars where I float,

Beyond the rays of my darkened rainbow.

I copy the wolves to catch my prey,

These deadly tools I use before I pray,

Everything new is the cost I pay,

Withdrawal magic is the most I take.

Frozen in ice under the sun,

Holding times hands as it runs,

Closing off my life from everyone,

Let in hate, fate, pain with all the love,

When I grow up I’ll be a killer,

Inside I’m broken-up as a mirror,

Seven years bad luck to deliver,

Heavens tears make dark waters quiver,

An eternal plummet for forever,

Quite a monster don’t you agree?

A night loner on reprieve,

Hyperbolically are you feeling me?

Doctors there’s no way you’re healing me,

Let me kill and die peacefully.

Keep your pens busy! Love Alex.


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Filed under 2014, Misc, Music, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

Sick and Tired

Sick & tired

I’m sick & tired of being poor,

I’m sick & tired of being beaten-up and shown the floor,

I’m sick & tired of not having enough food,

I’m sick & tired for always asking for more,

I’m sick & tired of all of these doctors’ meds,

I’m sick & tired of these voices in my head,

I’m sick & tired of my job,

I’m sick & tired of living for less in this mess,

I’m sick & tired of my past,

I’m sick & tired of always coming in last,

I’m already sick & tired of my future,

I’m sick & tired of being white trash,

I’m sick & tired of not being a writer,

I’m sick & tired of having to be a fighter,

I’m sick & tired of having no views,

I’m sick & tired of being a live-wire,

I’m sick & tired of my evil deeds,

I’m sick & tired of no one dreaming of me,

I’m sick & tired of being sick & tired,

It’s worse than you know, believe me.

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Filed under Blogging, Creative Writing, Life, Misc, Music, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Random, Uncategorized, Wordpress, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

Define: Writer

If you think reading is boring

Define: Writer

  1. noun

Noun: writer; plural noun: writers

  1. A person who has written something or who writes in a particular way.

“The writer of the letter”

  • A person who writes books, stories, or articles as a job or occupation.

“Dickens was a prolific writer”

synonyms: author,   wordsmith,   man/woman of letters, penman,   creative writer; Moreinformalscribbler,   scribe,   pen-pusher,   hack,   potboiler

To look at what a writer does from this perspective doesn’t hit the bone; this only shows you the skin. Writing for me and many other worldwide is pure magic. It is the belief in oneself when words are all we have; and now the whole world has some sort of writing device in front of them. We can all be writers.

But what this doesn’t tell you, from of all of the “Writers” out there; there are scribblers who are “True Writers”

These creators of stories and other articles do not give up. If they blog like myself, no matter how many people are viewing their work or if they would ever get noticed but a publishing house or literary agency, they will keep writing because it is all we have at the end of the day.

But I have to hand it to people; some do try at their writing and give up after a certain period of time because they find out that it is harder than it looks. But you have it in you to make a difference within your life.

Keep at it and show the world what is within you.

Have a look around my blog and see the different types of writing styles and stories you could possibly write or go on to write when you are ready.

Practice makes perfects and re-writes make a great story writer.

Sorry this was a short post, I will make sure you have something great to read later. 🙂

Keep your pens busy!


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Filed under Articles, Author, Blog, Books, Creative Writing, Fiction, Literacy, Literary Agent, Misc, Random, Story, Uncategorized, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

Stop Writing about Writing and Write – Something


Stop Writing about Writing and Write – Something. I am giving all my secrets away, free of all charges brought forth to me. I do not want to disappear into the background of my character buildings and over dramatic darkened scenes I live amongst. Pros I use professionally produce are proof of a productive pro. I find sanctuary in the sanatorium of life; I remember the memories, January to December, Hang me from the neck from the ledge of forever. I am changing my mind, at least one of them. Can you see the smoke yet? I am flinging fire from my fingertips, get it? I am not going out.

It’s getting dark in here, the gloom is instantaneously illustrious. They dump my limp discoloured body in a hellhole and thought they buried me for the greater good, now I use my illness and come-out as victor. Now I am coming for a world war because my pen is mightier than their swords; it is a fighting force you have never seen before. I am a madman with a dab hand with words. Throw me in the lion’s den, Simon says, my ocean of words are worse than any crime wave, any time of day, I write insane, while I wait to find my fate upon this page.

insane 12

This is a whimsical tale, I am a magician with this pen; I can make you believe I never existed; now I am gone. My words make more sense than my own life, I don’t fit in but I do when I splodge on paper. Quit while I am ahead? Never. I am a writer, I don’t give up, I only give in. My soul is crying havoc while my body is screaming write; what else am I to do? Apologize? Never. This is the way I am and am this way until I am a deathly writer. Bring forth your fictional pointers and I shall bring my life to the page, burn after reading.

I wish I was a writer, one, someone could look up to as heightened vertigo. One, where no other writer would publish their works around my release date as their words would never make it to eye. One, where the world knew I meant business when I looked upon my computer screen. These are my battles; I have no idea when I will win at this chess game, these are my moves and I shall take all I can.

How to be a great writer? Answer; you must become great first; the words will soon follow, soon after the world will stroll behind you. Answered.

They tell me to show this world something new. There is nothing new, only reworded. I am a mental patient, finding it hard to live amongst sane people. I am an addict to drugs and words; I am still waiting for my overdose of both. So I must reach into my bag of insanity and stretch out a story more horrifying and octane based than any other out there.

What would you like to know? I am scared! Is this what you want to hear? I don’t know what life has in store for me and not knowing what my next move is, is fearsome to me.

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Filed under Articles, Author, Blog, Life, Literacy, Mental Health, Misc, Random, Uncategorized, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

My Evil Pen Told Me To Write This 4


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