The Fire Inside Me

fire inside screamer

The Fire Inside Me

Standing in the flames of these words, all I can do with them is set my world on fire. I’m enjoying this pain; let us dance on the ashes of this painful reminder, life. I am more human than human. I cape over this page as if I were a marvel, bitten by a radioactive firefly; guess what my power is? My self-destruct button has been detonated, a magic mushroom cloud you can read as a nightmare. Do you have smoke in your eyes or are you rubbing your peepers in amazement? I’m drowning on this page; I jumped straight in this deep end, my pen is my life-guard; but don’t save me yet, I’m on fire!

fire

Stop reading this! My words concocted with my pain can burn out your eyes. You don’t use them anyways; you only read half the stories or read into half-truths. My flair never spontaneously combusted, I had to find the strike for the right match for my mind to go up in flames. I’m enflamed with empathy, I’m flame-retardant; my crazy is never empty. I’m bringing an archaic firing to this paper; this is my form of an S.O.S! I’m holding up my lighter towards the sky. Too intense for the eyes to warrant a tear, my skin will burn and bubble and eventually seep off from my bones. I’m reheating my memories for my fire-demon to slurp up for dessert. Revenge is ice-cream! A dish best served cold; I run on scolding hot exhaust fumes; how can I bestow a forest-fire on all those that are cold?

I’m living in the past with these third degree burns, scars have funny ways of reminding you of past mistakes you have made. I scribble with sizzle, fizzle and scrape. I’m breathing an inferno while it’s raining torrential, steaming up your computer screen.

I’m a jack of all trades,

I’ve gotten the rapid response late,

When I blow my top,

Along with volcano rocks,

My magma words roll this way!

Raining fire

Am I destined for greatness with my stories or am I flying too close to the sun? That’s right, melt my wings, boot me out of heaven; I’m already living in Hell. I’m rain-dancing naked, let it reign fire. I’m only a phoenix rising from the ashes, so let me write in peace.

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Wordless…

I treasure my secrets so this world cannot find me. An X marks the spot; this is why I write when I am cross. I will wait here for you, I will always be here. Keep digging the dirt from on top of me; you will never uncover my truth. Set sail for a better life, towards the horizon line into the sunset. I cannot stand these calm oceans any longer; I am falling from the edge of the world’s ledge.

This split personality is splitting me in half, personally I am a person of pure fear, I don’t get along with many people, I blow up if you’re here. How would it be if I were famous? That would never happen; if I had a working brain this nameless delinquent would be too dangerous. I forecast more contrast, the light from my eyes have been snatched by a bad-man, gone fast. These naked trees vein over my skies, Alex, stop looking up to those stars unless they’re exploding!

Life is lawless,

Jobless with no benefits,

Hopeless and can’t get to grips,

With this whole mess I am living in.

Welfare will recur,

So will their slurring eyes,

The greatest loser,

It takes time to get use to,

We’re all living in this warfare,

Don’t feed this animal, tattooed,

Check out my new head-ware.

Ill-starred since my life started,

Killed my heart for my writing passion,

My time machine has broken down,

I am reliving my remembered past in a passing glimpse,

I’m turning off my humanity switch,

Hey, these hits happen.

Down this wormhole I go,

Clicking together my heels,

There’s no place like home,

Falling on my face, comatose,

You’re now watch an apocalypse taking place,

I’m diving in headfirst, hold your nose,

I am swimming in insane.

These words play no part in my everyday vocabulary, my existence is a horrific ordeal; ideally I am lost for words. Don’t wake me up from this nightmare; my everyday life is much worse. What can I write to have you on my side? See these horrors I never borrowed in this heart lives only hollowed morals.

Writers Worldwide Unite!

As a writer I do believe in magic. But that may just be my medication (No… Stop laughing, I am on medication.) But I ultimately love what words do for me and also what they can do for you. They can have you dreaming about one itsy-bitsy scene for hours or have you turn the pages because you can’t read anymore gore… Yuck!

But it is our job, no wait, our RIGHT to explore the recesses of our dark abysses and pluck the words out and form them into entertainment. Now I have been writing for about ten years, now I am back in the asylum (I’m getting off topic.) But I have seen wonders in words that deliver me to another world; I have seen the littlest piece of fiction woven into a work of a triumphant masterpiece and seen people start-up a blog and write a piece of fiction that one but me loves…. I read anything and everything, my curse I call it.

But we as writers are the creators, some better than others, I am sorry but that is life. Either you have it or you don’t; but don’t stop there “Someday” is within your cards, kid.

I am a different writer from you all; neither money nor fame keeps me coming back for more; only the mere thrill of shockvalue does it for me. (Better than sex…. well almost better.) But I would like to tell you a saying my mother always told me when I strived for greatness….. Are you ready?

What is not for you will not go by you.

Simple…. If this is the path you have chosen (Well-Done, Kid!) carry on, there are only two possibilities; either you make it or you don’t; but no one can say you didn’t try. Now I am here to say I HAVE GOT YOUR BACKS! I will try my hardest to help you before I help myself, another curse of mine…. (I’m thinking I have a voodoo doll somewhere.) But PLEASE don’t lay your pen down just yet. All it takes is for one literary agent to see your work and to put you on the top of that list and snatch you from reality and tell you to live, breath and write… Whatever it is you write.

Now if you are a real writer, you are very sceptical about your own words… DON’T BE! Forget what people say or read. You are a writer, you don’t have to read what they say if it is anything negative.

And don’t be a fool and quit. Look at me, I am 25 years young, I have dreams of becoming a writer and no one really knows who I am by name or face only by certain songs and articles I have written and into the bargain I am a mental patient (Non-Practising) but I have a knack or a fire to force my will to breakdown the writers-blocked wall, crumble it and from the mortar make my own world. That’s what makes me a writer. Keep going your story doesn’t end here.

Now I know we are vast, but numbers will dwindle (They always do.) And the only people left standing or writing will be me and you.

This has been a psychotic announcement to sane people worldwide.

Keep your pens busy….

Alex.

I Can’t Stop Writing This…

Why-are-writers-crazy

I’m beautifully damaged and camouflaged behind the words I write down, a hunter ready to strike for your eyes, voice and heart. A personal quiet riot! A waft from the page, can you smell that? That’s not my body odour; it would be my soul I just sold, on fire! I’m tortured in life; my demons have keys for all my doors I close and barricade. I’m hurt; I’m holding bloody-hands out for you to pick me up, I’m pulling for you to see what I see, maybe you can see words are my own way out from this cesspool hell hole.

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I’m not writing for money; I would be happy to write something for my next meal or something resemblance to a second of happiness. You want words? I’ll give you some! When I threap this quill, I know my stories are ephemeral because my life is mirrored to yours as imbroglio; I know when I began incipiently and I never became inure. The darkness made the words almost labyrinthine mixed with crazy, my work became panoply. I ravish each sentence, I ravel up each paragraph. Some days I wish I would become nefarious and I will use all I know, forever, grandiloquently.

And I didn’t even go to University or College!

These words haunt me; I’ve never seen or dreamed these figments before, where did they come from? I know I must write them; possessed by the legendary writing masters from the past, Poe, Shakespeare, Tolkien and Tu’pac. I’m not even here, don’t mind me crouched in the corner naked and filthy, shocking shaking while laughing at what my hands can do. These tears keep me from falling further into that hole, cupping out my hands to carry them into the land of the living. Yes, I have some baggage.

I want to scream sometimes but all I can muster-up is exclamation marks!!!! I need a way out, it’s either get rich or die trying. I pick the foremost. I’m suffocating here; I need to catch a break for breath. I want my words to transport me to another world. If I’m not brushing off Cop-Stares, I’m jumping over and through bushes to escape Monsters. Letting creative juices flow when I bang my forehead on my desk, I’ll concuss my way through these writings.

i would rather be writing

We all adapt to the pains of life, I’m soaking wet with gasoline, I need a way out; I’m searching for a light. I’m only powering-up to be a standing joke, direct your attention this way, please! I’m skating acclivity. The dog circles around me, until it sits at my feet; it drags it sight to the sky. The dog’s head falls off and a fountain of blood spurts over me. I’m covered in sweat; these night terrors need to stop, in my waking life I’m living in, I’m feral because it.

Does this pen even exist on my realm? It does, it must; I’m the one who doesn’t subsist. I scratch my madness on the walls with my fingernails, this page is my blackboard. First I must beat life before I beat my work; the bullies in school have already had playtime on my face. I’m throwing my hands in the air for surrender and praise to this hurt. Bring on the pain.

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This is the last straw; finding my work online is the same as finding a needle in a haystack. I’m exploding above this world because my fire-works. Boom! I just see thing differently; hands coming from the floor, clouds are spaceships for ghosts; this page is trying to steal my thoughts. I am my own literary agent! I’m my own pimp; all I have to do is open up for my punters.

I’m writing for life, I have to write in my own heartbeats. Oblivion is my only option, beyond that I’ll have writers block. Never say never!

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.

An Evil Writer Kills With A Pen

joker-laughs

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.

bipolar_by_jaeia

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.

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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.

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