There’s No Sense like Nonsense
I am the devil and I am here to do the devils work! I’ve got my fingers on my own pulse, everyday my body is losing the idea of me. I walk in the sunlight and I burst into a paper ball of flames, bring your marshmallows and shovels; we’re all going on a family trip to hell! I am not fighting myself anymore, I always end up winning. One cut, two cut, three cut, floor. I am neither no longer holding back, I’m throwing this pen and paper at your head; catch them with your eyes. Where I will deliver everyone worldwide, their imaginations will be my weapon against them.
Manipulation is the key. Evil Writer – Evil Writer – Evil Writer – Evil Writer – Evil Writer, every time you hear those words, you will think of me! I am lying naked on a morgue slab cutting open my own chest; the crack of each rib bone is the equivalent of the crunch of an apple bite. Well how else do these people want to see what the hell is going on inside of me? Insert heart here!
I’m a born again writer, why do you think I engrave death on so many pages? Literature will etch my focused ambition from here to the after-world. The gibberish I glibly glide over these glazed pages comes forth as exact natters of my scatterbrains, battering, psych-complaints, medicines, time-restraints on my minds mental states, time to splatter my brains-cloud right down this papers page, do you even realize the rhymes I’m writing in wait? I can’t put this razor down now, there’s more to just saving face.
I’ll out rightly out write you because you write what is rightly right! I may be the antagonist of my own story but that doesn’t mean beauty doesn’t grow within me as a poisonous wild flower. I feek through these hallways talking to the darkness; but before I beblubber I will bestow a blunder of ideal ideas constructed in blood-bubbles. The longanimity keeps me grounded, how can I end my life when I have too many persons from the past to revisit, I need absolution. I defile these pages now. I dollop of dull life mixed with drawcansir and the male equivalent of a drazel. When you get to hell, tell the devil he can suck my pen!
You’re all staring upwards, which stars do you want to be? I will gain an entrance into forever as I dig downward on these pages. I’m running from my monsters I create, I fight and eventually kill myself; all I have is this cemented war cry for it; in essence sweat, blood and tears. I am slipping away into the darkness; I am becoming a son of the night while everyone stays children of the dawn. I need help! My only medication is word dialysis as the demons have pitched home in the corners of my fingertips. I am hungry enough I could eat this paper I am writing this upon. I can’t sleep at night the monster growls within my belly; the ache keeps its pincers clenched. I roll and I thrash, I am being eaten by this. Money has greatly escaped my entire trouser pockets have miraculously sprouted holes. I think this world is trying to tell me something, don’t you?
This evil pen is an instrument of fire, writing out my empathetic feelings means I am gambling with life and death every time I scribe. I am finally alive; life oceans through me along with my brainwaves towards the thought of psychosis, tsunamis inside. You’ll all pay! The doctors tell me I am a Mattoid. I L-L-L –Loath you! Sorry, towards the nicety of harmless words I have lethogica. I’m digging deeper into my mind, the place where I buried anyone that has crossed me from the past.
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