Tag Archives: Crazy stories

My Evil Pen Told Me To Write This – 2


I am setting these pages alight, sending all my pieces of work into ashy memory, my own personal fire-shrine. I am the truest word of a writer so no further need for my tongue, cut it and kill it. I will take you on a voyage beyond the word hell – My diary. I am damaged; light-years from repair and still my severed limbs are crawling and scraping towards this dream. Sitting envious of the moguls flashing their achievements under my nose; how can I conquer my life if I cannot triumph over my own minds functions? I will one day.

They can make it shower hope for the hopeless and money for the poor, all I can ball-up is my ability to draw forth red clouds and make it rain blood upon us all, my bad. My demons swim within my eyeballs; once they surface they surf upon every teardrop. Writing is my way out of all of this; this pen is a leech upon my hand, sucking all my secrets out.

“He’s a mental patient, why hasn’t he begun killing yet?” I’m not sure, maybe I was hatched wrong.

I truly hope this isn’t the last time I lie down, evanescently in my nightmares. I am shredding up these pages with my ballpoint pen whilst having a word tantrum, I cannot stop – I have gone loco.

“If he is not evil, why does sin rhyme with him?” There are so many questions to answer.

I can’t stop these words escaping from the vortex of this pen!

This is coming off my chest,

Because I’m flying off the walls,

All these emotions inside can’t be stalled,

It’s time to let loose, it’s time to break free,

Alex has blown a fuse,

Here comes another side of me!

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Dark clouds form promptly above my head, pissing on this world for my misfortunes. It is rather satirical to watch. Lightning strikes drag their fingers of obscurity across the ground with energized iron, rubbing out all that is wrong with land. The ground up-heaves and overlaps upon itself within a ripple effect to become almost a water imitation. The whole world stops watching and hears my pain, the Earth comes to life. The echoing screams from the people whom have sought shelter from this pen drip to a dull murmur as the ground opens a chipped-corner to Hell. Open your mouth! I do not blink as if I were to do so, a tear would fall; I do not breathe from my mouth as if I were to do so, a whimper would wince; I do not care as if I were to do so I would forget this world forgot about me when they said they cared. Let this whole world shudder with my cold shoulder.

I drag my index finger under my right-eye where a tear has clung onto; I look at it sitting on my finger. This is the last of me! I flick the water in your direction. This is what you are after, it’s yours now.

You’re not the antagonist of this story, I am. I could let anyone of you destroy this world but this conflict you waltzed into the middle of has been in the making since my first cut.

You have no idea what this world can do to one man,

If you stay here long enough, you will understand my words.

Help me!

 … … …

I have been dreaming of something better since I picked up this pen.

On this world you need your eyes to be closed to dream. Alex, give me the go-ahead and I shall make it a permanent fixture upon your face.

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My Evil Pen Told Me To Write This


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Crumple up the skies and erase out the white clouds, a slight breeze will press against my skin, watch how it bubbles with the burn of righteousness. Stomp on their homes and the photo family portraits; keep their blissful memories beneath your feet, Alex.

I was born to cause havoc between the bars of these pages, does that make me a prison baby? Time to turn this pen around within my fingers, shoot for the stars in my eyes and jab because I have seen the horror of their entertainment they rub upon me. Alex, squish your dreams, blood tears will fathom under the fathoms forever, so you can shake that idea out of your pretty little head.

I am about to destroy whole civilizations with thunder and lightning with one of my brain storms; on my hands and knees I am repeatedly stabbing the ground with my pen and watching it seep ink. The pen is mightier than the sword, but its okay, I was born with two hands to carry both; Insert my evil guffaw laugh here!

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I have come along way from being a hobbledehoy but like every black caterpillar I transformed in a beautiful poisonous-psychotic-writer-fly. I am no longer aberrant because this is my bailiwick. I will bereave for my lost soul which rests in pieces, twitching with semi-life haunted by the decay of heebie-jeebies. My pens duty now is to immolate all that is wonderful and tranquil, where would this world be without a little anarchy?

You are no writer because you do not write for yourselves; you think of the small minded and only catch the small eyes, one day when I die, my legend will live on within my works, to slink out from the basket when the flute of darkness is played. Serpent? Yes I am.

If you would like to clash swords, I was forged in the fires of family and cuddled by the cold wind of the rough sleep of the street, pelted with pills by doctors as I sit naked in the corner holding on to dear life to the bad memories. So tell me, how would I not fit into fame? They will call me eccentric but we will hold on to the truth.

This is my quest, my journey to love hate. My curse, my job, my destiny and no one not even the almighty himself can prise me away from this. You may know words, but I see words in all, this is where the line is drawn and if you ever think to cross the line, I will take my pen from its holster and create a masterpiece that could inevitably murder your career.

I love wordplay; the play on words is my job title, I may not be entitled to make money from my writing but I know one day I will receive that knock upon my door. My eyes will darken and my soul will tweak with excitement, all alone staring at the sun, I will get closer to it than Icarus. Through any kind of darkness comes some sort of light. Bring forth my pen, Alex, it’s time to keep your pen busy.

stop-writingRemember this!

The Guardian also wrote an amazing article about creative writing, I suggest you take a look and get an insight if you are interested. http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/mar/14/creative-writing-courses-advice-students

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My Insane Scribbling


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My Insane Scribbling

Stones spread well through-out the land, as the temperature has dropped with the weight of a brick. Tears will freeze on your face for all time to laugh and point at; within your graveyard museum, I am waiting forever. Left on my knees, you took my ability to move on, shuffle or walk. My screams work willingly; this pen will make me lose my mind, again, you were my teacher.

An indestructible idea is moulded from the clay of skin that you have left cracked with the bubbles of beneath. Everyone is nobody and I am an alien sent to Earth to take on the pain people prick onto me. My heart is an endless cave, footsteps beat with the dance of escape.

You look upon me as someone who is shipping nowhere but even an unknown voyage arrives at a destination.

Committed to this addiction now, something so beautiful turns quickly into death. Kaleidoscopes of vibrant pills turn the viewer into a handful of pills, which transforms into a mouthful; the results are in as a pill problem.

Everything is falling apart, I can see the bones of reality; eyes – flay all that is real to me. A problem is born again. I am lost within this mind, found within the madness of my words. I pelt my way from rejection letter to relationship rejection, hope to hopelessness, literary to literary agents, the night and its loneliness is what I am left with. I will hide above these murky clouds one day. I used to believe as a child that when it rained someone died, now even my beliefs are all lies. I am so resilient today; I make up my own stories to destroy your beliefs, lots of laughs.

My mother speaks on behalf of my subconscious to make sure my choices are no longer wrong. When will I put this knife down? Trying to put an end to this endless life. Drunk spits at my mirror reflections. Alex; pick-up your whiskey bottle, write your life-out and toast to death. Congratulations, you are now evil.  You can now let your soul fall from your mouth and lock it within a jar with no air; shake it and threaten it with fire.

I need a sharper knife. You have opened your armour, dumb-wittingly, within the moonlight show this world a beast along with your love with the same mouth. Howl at the sun so there is no more night-time. Spiral your fingers around your throat like a suicidal snake, keep hold of that dream. Lash another wrist, lash another. What came first within my life, time or death? Cannot have one without the other, I guess they come from the same cut. We shall see soon.

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