An Evil Writer Kills With A Pen – Part 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!

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.

COMMINATORY

The world hatched and gave birth to me, silver linings are traced over with bad-luck; I’m mad as fuck, not even military precision prayers could save this mutant of the pen. A pill in my mouth, a bee in my bonnet, high as the clouds, I’m running against comets and anger comments. This motherfucker is climbing out of the gutter, flushing away his past because it’s all shit. Too controlled for suicide; too educated for homicide; so I will imagine them both whilst scratching help signals above my skin. Handicapping and happy-slapping the retard living in my brain, fuck your feelings Alex, for your life, you’re the only one to blame.

Alex, you’re gonna’ die alone. Walking along your path and your only friend will be the freezing breeze to join your cold heart upon an icy chessboard. Cause a supernova of words; turn the cement to flames, skin to lighter fluid and jungles to fire-food. They swept you under the mat and expected you to rebel, I’m telling you; give them a wake-up call to the killing moon. Crimson critics live under your fingernails; green with envy because you are not writing for The Green…

The golden boy shimmers off his shine with a deadly chill. Sucker-punch this fucking world and while they are not looking boot them in the ball into the sun. Exact your revenge upon your Ex-girlfriend who got your hopes up with a fresh start of love, then gave you the middle-finger when she found a new cock to control. Chase after the man who took your smile as a child, run him down and slowly take away his cries. This is the war-cry of a manmade madman, I was not laboratory created and synthesized in a bottle, this is my chemical reaction to this blackened planet with my own two black eyes.

Open my eyes; strapped to the chair and made to watch while everyone took a piece of me and stamped on my innocence as if it were shit. Screaming at the mirror, pulling out my hair, totally lost… I couldn’t talk to the psychiatrist so he kicked me out his club house; the numbness is really taking over, where is he now? Did I fail him or did he fail me? Swallow another pill, self-destruction will cope against hope. I’m a piece of shit; I will never amount past the flies.

I pretend and camouflage well with the nice sane people, but today has taken its toll. Pushing all the right buttons, don’t you know you’re dealing with a potential Killer/Writer? Wipe away a tear and wash away all you are with whiskey, you’re a happy drunk, pilled-up to the eye balls, what are you crying for? You are a party animal.

I’m not trying to shock and awe, you probably haven’t read this far down, I had to get it off my chest. No clean versions to life, so bring your fucking swear words; I was watching my mouth, worry about what I write. Don’t worry baby, I still love sex, I really am a freak in and out of the bedroom. Talent? Stripping skin skillfully sinfully so sufficiently such souls scream soundly sweet as they sleep; sayonara sunrise, scaling scary sights as silly-fuckers still stand still. What more do you fucking want? What more do you fucking need? Have I not bled enough with my pen? I can write, final…

I need out of this dirt-ridden poverty, I barely get by with this bare-trap ankle bracelet chained to my home of the brave. What do you know about the street? …Except staring at us all from your penthouse suites. I turbo my bad-attitude on my blog, enjoy!!

Mommas’ at the gate shouting come on home,

I’ve got so much hate; I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.

Mission impossible break-out from hospital,

This kid has lost his soul, frostbitten to the core,

Make the most of my living,

When everyone doesn’t want me to win,

So I’m going in for the kill,

Showing a sea of people my fin,

The mister of enigma,

Most sinister move finisher,

Finish him!

This is game-over,

Immoral combat,

Better get another brain-donor,

I can’t borrow because I lost that.

It’s hard out here for a madman,

Apparently I’m equal to a trashcan,

But I’m embarrassingly evil to say the least,

I’m a badman.

But with this pen of mine,

I line all my enemies in a line,

And swipe and rhyme,

This is a fight for life,

Because I have bide my time,

And now you will have to deal with this,

Writing is my meal ticket,

I’m hungry!

So I will wait my turn,

Then turn wicked.

This is a close encounter of the insane mind,

Frozen at the top of this mountain,

Beyond space and time,

I take the time,

To look at my life and you know what?

I fucking hate mine.

This is coming off my chest,

I’m flying off these walls,

All these emotions inside can’t be stalled,

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

Alex has blew a fuse, here comes another side to me…

What Did I Just Write? What Was I Thinking?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

An Evil Writer Kills With A Pen

I am flirting with fire; from normality I had cold-feet. I am a kerfuffle of trouble, there’s no saving me now as I have mushroom-clouds for thought bubbles. They lacerate my world believing they killed me, I’m letting slip my dogs of war until they know me as a reformed super villain. Challenge Completed, Planet Earth; I’m spinning out-of-control, no fault of my own, I couldn’t keep hold. I’m a libertine shoulder barging my way through the captive creators; I’m writing on black paper in the dark.

No brain freeze or frisson, picking up lightening-bolts and throwing them at the pages of rapture I capture. This is merely reverie I reveal and unravel, I time-travel back and thwart all my enemies plans for me. I am no poltroon, I pollute pages personally I made it personal because I am no longer a person. The rain trickles down and washes away all my plights from my face, I change my mind and change my face and I am giving the world hell again, true evil is holding a pen. My calm levels are unstable, upon this page I have too much sycophantic horsepower, I bucking-bronco my way out from this web of life.

In school, after Maths was English class where I jotted down my aftermath from the bullies pulley, I guess I’m pure vile and puerile, I’m not a Transformer I can transmogrify. Rambunctious to my soul’s battery core; setting my switch to self-destruction. A man can only receive so much failure in his life before superiority takes over his eyes focus. Insanity is a gift from the Gods; I wield and shield it against sanity.

This world sees what they want to see; I could have charming characteristics, suave and soigné, hats off to me, my undercurrent is currently a catastrophe. All passengers, we have a slight insurgence for turbulence and wizen, please, fasten your seatbelts and come join me within my plummet. Its drizzling green and yellow pills, I’m dancing in the pain, I jump in blood puddles and reappear in sky tunnels of bliss. This hurt in my head I play it over and over again, until a joker smirk arises on my face, I’m no longer insane, isn’t life splendiferous.

Within my writing I cannot be a stentorian, so I must visual lies my memory video-taped life, transplant and transport all of my supercilious kisses of life, these pages are where my wishes go to find a place to die. This world should have boxed me in early, now I can create topsy-turvy from everything that profoundly promotes to hurt me. Here comes the valetudinarian again, turn away, don’t dare turn that page, it’s all of the same. I could be a beacon of silver-lining light, but the doctors beat my head in with a rock to keep me under it for eternity. I am a writer, this is what I do, keep bringing you words and I shall sit here and laugh at you.

Breaking Bad Love

Breaking Bad Love

—

You may believe this is a story of another broken-heart, but you’d be wrong. This is a story about overcoming Drug Addiction. I hope this helps you…

—

These Breaking bad thoughts shimmer to the surface, living in a fantasy world where I shiver in the darkness within a false high. Doped up to the eyeballs, this is where I fall from the sky; this is where I’ve lost my mind, right on. Black rainbows of love whilst living in the dark, I’m not supposed to grow in the shadows of a drug. I can’t sleep at night; I love you too much to close my eyes, to close this chapter of our lives we share together. They tell me “One day at a time” but days are no longer my problem, it’s the seconds I circle around when I think of your last kiss. One more hit and I’m done with this. I say I am done with you, but I know deep down I live under you, amazed by the clouds you show me. I loved you and I believed in you so much, if I knew your plans I would have never taken your hand and runaway. You feel so good it should be illegal.

These love drugs are teasing me, they do not love me the way I love them. You leave me speechless and breathless; this is our dirty little secret which keeps me restless, I will never speak of this. Reality, she means nothing to me now, I’m in love with the voice and the feel of you. You’re the real eye-candy, I want to show you off but at the same time keep you to myself, you make me nail-bitingly selfish. It’s always the last time, but with every kiss feels like our first. I’m cheating on my basic motor-functions with you. This is my love letter to you, after this we will be done.

I can no longer tell what is real and what is not, this was your doing. This broken heart and endless turns within these covers will be my punishment for leading you down my path. Crying with a glass of water held by a shaking hand, you bring me no joy in doing this. Time to love what is good for me, not love what I want. A fresh breeze runs over my pale skin. I will no longer listen to the voices or even pick up that phone, I want my life back! I want pain, I want my talent back, I want my family and most of all I want my girlfriend; you stole this from me.

I know I will open up books in the future and see your devastating face as you destroy someone else’s existence. But they will have to pull through your chill by their selves, I cannot help. I must dump you now down the toilet of forever. I can hear you shouting “How will you survive without me?!” Do you really want to know how I will survive? …Like this, by myself. I’m going to get myself rich, buy myself a time-machine and throw you out before you got here, only so you know. Just like you, you won’t see me coming.

I’m clawing my way back to the light from your tantalizing siren love song, now I’m pissed off, no one can control this mental patient, I am ultimate; I will be forever. Life is my drug now and you mean nothing to me, it’s over now… leave.

Who Am I?

WHO AM I?

—

I’m a walking nightmare, my hands around my own throat, can’t shake awake! I’m dying to write dynamic dynamite; writing is my form of dialysis, I need all the badness out. A mental state of emergence has now been issued to you, personally. This is no jocularity; I mean this all the way down to my tormented soul. I’m rattling and shaking, I’m not afraid; you will twig-on when I snap. I’m digging up my own past, shovel in hand; I need answers and resolve some unfinished business, so you can lollop around my questions but remember this is my job, I write like a boss.

Misanthropy over here! So you’re either with me or against me, I’m going to war with humankind. I swindle and hustle my way out from my psychiatrist meetings; they label my big-toe as sane and packed me back to the free-world I am coming to conquer. If you were smarter you would have caught me out. I bring no attention to my shell, I blend in, disappear and robot-dance my way into the crowd, my circuits have shorted but this has made me a bigger man. If you knew my story, you would burn my book.

I’m heat-seeking for inner-peace,

But before I be seated,

These are my proposed proceedings,

I’m pulling out all my deep seeded beliefs,

A concocted mix of special needs, my inner-beast and deceit,

These are the things which live deep in me.

I am a soldier of the apocalypse,

Holding hostage every major metropolis,

If you can’t topple this, copy this,

Looking for my mind,

As I look for a lost wish.

I’m not a writer; I am the reaper of words,

My life is on an egg-timer,

What can be worse than being the worst?

Strand by strand,

I stand before you less than half the man,

I’m a problem they buried,

Now it’s time to raise hell,

The feeling of lost and deserted,

“This is what you deserve, kid.”

I cut myself to excel the bad blood,

It’s all fun in Hell,

Fall down this wonder-well,

Hurry-up before it gets backed up.

I’ve lost my mind,

A search and rescue team,

They can’t find me,

Yeah, laugh it up!

Back when I was fighting for life,

It was frightening,

My personal war of Clash of the Titans.

It’s time to unbind the blind,

And just enjoy the ride.

I’m not coming down from this high, until I am grounded and surrounded by stars. An operated opened sternum sense of a nonsensical life, I have. My real name is Addict, I pour a bowl of Pill-pops, add my milk or vodka-shots and spoon my mouth what it needs. No more secrets, I am an opened book… I need help, I think. I have isolated all I love with my ice-cold heart. I am living a double life and people are fatigued trying to figure me out. How do I join the living again?

Welcome once again to my ribaldry! Sanctimoniously I dribble around what I truly need to deliver, but effusively I fumble my falsehood. I am a walking, writing blob of human but with a side dollop of insane lollop; you can be just like me. Still impecunious, but that is okay, one day I will dream and wake to a happy ever after. Perhaps I am impervious to a happier time? What I truly am in most eyes is an indemnifying writing object. I have a storm in my heart and love within my eyes; can’t I just touch the tip? Insatiable! I’m I accurately jejune to you?

Alex Kennedy – Creative Writer and Mental Patient

First-off I would like to thank you for stopping by…

I write because words are all I have; I’ll out-rightly out write you because you write what is rightly right!

My name is Alexander Kennedy, I am 33 years old and live here in Kingston Upon Hull – England With my Wife (Cacilia) And my Children (Alexander and Felicity) As a young “Mental Challenged” teen I quickly developed a love for rhyming words (Aspirations of becoming a white rapper/ poet.) But I didn’t know it was the love for the shock of words I loved.
But after a few years on the poet scene I found out the words I used were no longer filling that void within me. I needed a challenge while I was attending a mental health hospital for delusions, unable to tell the difference between reality and dreams, walking around and having terrors form right before his eyes, all the while trying to keep my “Normal life” held together. I found a way out in Short stories and Screenplays. I generated myself as a novice pen-man. But as I marched my way through the writing scene, the words I was using did not have the same effect on me, so thus a novel was needed for his void. Taking all of the distorted images of people and events within my life, I create some of the weirdest and dark toned stories.
To keep my void filled I must still tackle all of my writing on a weekly or daily basis to ensure my pen doesn’t get lazy.

“I have been to hell when I was boy, when I arose from the fires I became a man; now, living out my life as an act to fit in to a place I can never truly be part of, so I write worlds I remember to entertain you from the darkness that raised me.” – “Psycho-Speak” Alex Kennedy.

If you would like to send us a private message, YOU CAN! We will receive your message and relay it back to Alex. The link is below. (NOTE: If you could leave us a short comment upon this page stating you have sent us a message, it would be appreciated, as we are not always on the email. Thank you.)

If you would like to talk to me about my writings or possible representation or guest-blog please use the e-mail below.

psychowriteralex@gmail.com

“I am a real life Mental Patient. Now I shall show you a world within the one you live in.” – Alex Kennedy

(YOU STEAL OUR MATERIAL, MY LAWYER WILL HUNT YOU DOWN! …May I just point out some of my earlier stories, from years prior, are from when I was mentally ill and on meds, so there maybe some spelling mistakes and weird twists. No I will not change them! They remind me of a time when I was less than myself now. But as I have grown, so has my work and spell-checking. Thank you.)

HAVE YOUR SAY AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Thanks for reading.

Pages of madness I write and sleep with upon my bedroom walls.