I’m the type of kid who doesn’t belong here; I stick out like a sore thumb. They tried to fix me, didn’t work; now they are biting nails around me waiting to see how much I can stamp on these pages before I snap off for good. How much is enough to call enough is enough? I couldn’t control my past but observe how I sculpt my future. Fire-red is the new Blackness, these pages will go up in smoke. These pages are my playground.
This world didn’t break me, I was already broken. And the brick that was thrown through my window, I am holding onto as if it was my dream, because when the time is right, I will make this world swallow what people have done to me. Looks like The Evilness has raised its ugly face again, it’s all only bravado, I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My sane-self is trapped on the other side, he sees all; tonight I will be your host and he will be my hostage. Welcome to the Alexander Kennedy Show!
He’s going cuckoo again! Doctors stop the treatment, it’s the wrong diagnosis; I merely write better when I have my head in the clouds. Well, it does give new meaning to higher functioning!
My brain is an intricate web; make sure you don’t get tangled in the words I weave. I’m the type of writer who pretends he’s a spider, for one purpose; to spin the peace symbol around before I chomp down on a fly girl. As a writer you must know I can kill with only finger and a thumb. They say one man’s delusions are another man’s faith. Do not worry; I have faith within my delusions.
I have to beat life because I can’t cheat this death,
I say I feel fine but my heart has raised secrets,
I may be in deep rhyme as I’m sitting at my desk,
As every night I die because my mind can regress.
I’m morphing into a monster,
Everybody stand back!
This horror-show I’m applaud in,
Know I have the quickest-hand on this pad,
i just wanted to become a writer … i’m sorry