NAIL IN MY COFFIN – POEM

NAIL IN MY COFFIN – POEM

—

Arm-wrestling with adolescence,

I can’t count my blessings,

As I’ve never been blessed,

My life has always been a chess-game,

That or a test, now I’m back at it again,

Grab myself a pad and a pen to be the baddest again.

Now I have a kid on the way,

Where there’s a will there’s a way,

“He’s crazy!” They’ll say…

I will kill for this day,

Now put this drill to my brain and rip out the sane.

For the past year I’ve been living in dark corners,

Shark waters; where I flash forward to happier callings,

Eyeball bawling,

Relapsing solely but these pills are so lonely.

Gotta’ do it for them, as my Dad never did,

“Alex, you’ll flip again… This is never-ending!”

I’m running from my devils,

What is heaven sending?

At God-Speed, have hope for me,

I’m more in-need of it before this corners me,

I wish I were a younger me, not hungry,

Not to put these pages under-siege with this thunder in me.

So let me sail the seas and swim with the dolphins,

Make my endorphins spin uncontrollably,

And help me bang in the nails of this coffin.

I’m all in.

 

 

I AM SLOWLY coming back….

Alexander Kennedy

http://www.youngadultfictionblog.com

 

 

 

True Evil Holds 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.

This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Malay Wikipedia for the 44th week, 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Related articles

• What Did I Just Write? What Was I Thinking?
• An Epic Duet: The Beautiful, the Bad and the Psychotic – Part 6 (Final)
• Soul Eater

I’m Losing Touch with Reality – Random Photos of me

I tear into this page with terror,

I penetrate my fate with a diabolical pen,

Dip into my thoughts of blood-ink forever with this feather.

I go to work and put on an act,

I hold a girl only to get her in the sack,

I hold my tongue when people talk about me behind my back,

And I’m still crazy inside.

The horror scenes from my street cornered of crimes follow me to sleep,

Will I one day wake up dead?

Steal my pen!

Trouble has a way of stalking me,

Rocking me rapidly, attacking me, grabbing me, flooring me, throwing me, burrow below me,

My writing takes over to cause a supernova,

I’m taking no more of the same boring rota,

So get ready to see what I have become so far…

I’m living forever, I will die as a blogging dead writer; the haze of pipedreams will eat my illumining soul and corrupt naturally my calm nature nastily. I’m flying off the walls as this is coming off my chest, as a child I ate crayons now as an adult I am chewing on the end of my pen, not much has changed. Maybe this writing business is for me, the page is laid out before me, puke. This website is my last stand and my words are my last resort, I catch-a-phrase and head back the way. Fill these pages with shock value to fill those pockets with evil money to enrich that soul full of peace, I need a piece please. I’m losing touch with reality because I’m thinking thoughts; won’t you step into my fantasy world?

I’m done praying for archaic change,

I’m changing lanes faster than I can age in the face,

Where I’ll be in five years?

A writer if it’s my fate, if only I don’t die here.

I only have a glimmer of hope,

A pencil sharpener to butcher words as I go,

I’m simply the best character I have every wrote,

Break my soul apart and turn my words into stone.

Standing in front of this mirror mimicking lip-syncing death-threats to myself, I’m living in a living hell. These pages give me the key to leave hells grip on me, now I will never fail now. This blog is my playground, if you push me, I am swinging! See these words through the world of a wonder. That’s why they call me Alex Kennedy, I write venomously but if you extract the remedy, you will live to see another day. True evil has no gender, so I think I shall wear the crown.

And to all who are down here reading this, yes, all of these pictures are me. I thought it was about time I showed my face. Haha! Alex

Related articles

• The scars of yesterday
• A Beggar Soul …
• The Reality of My Fate
• Forever Evil Event: Forever Evil: Arkham War 6
• Would That Be Alright?
• Defining Evil
• You Don’t Know What Pain Is

A Flare-up Story – Mental Patient & Proud

The shadowy mother figure from the infamous shower scene. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There once lived a boy named Alex. Alex was a mentally challenged young lad…

One day…

“Alex, did you know you contradict yourself and say you’re a psycho, instead of your actual words you have used, saying you were a schizophrenic?” I did not know that; please tell me how else I can describe my emotional detachment or how I am feeling at that exact moment I write?

But I would like all of you sane people to know, you use words such as Crazy – Psycho – Out-of-my-mind – Mental – Lunatic on a daily basis and you have no problem with reality detachment or have even seen the inside of a mental health hospital… Most of you only need a good nights sleep, stop watching horror movies and step away from the pen.

I HAVE BEEN STRUGGLING WITH THIS SINCE BEFORE I STARTED WRITING!!! I have more of a right to use these terms than you… You textbook quote back to me what mentally ill terminologies I should use – I have lived this…

No matter how hard I run, it will find me. It doesn’t matter how much I write, it will find a way to my forethought. You play and prey on words to make yourselves out to something you’re not as long as your sane voice is thrown across the internet, well here’s mine – I AM A MENTAL PATIENT AND I AM PROUD OF IT!!

I don’t really live, the people closest to my heart may know this about me, but I shall never go into detail and I will never let them see me on a bad day. It’s called keep people you trust most on the planet at arm’s length and it’s no way to live. And the people who pop in & out of my life believe I am a normal funny, happy everyday person, just like you.

Now I know my words I bring to the wordpress classroom for show & tell are perceived as Angry and Out-of-control, but it helps me deal. Now I am not averse to kicking some ass when needed, but if another SANE person strolls along into my blog, browsing only a few of my words and jumps straight in with pointless words and psychology to point stuff out. (I get enough looking after behind the screen BTW) If I am having a bad-day, I am not going to miss you and hit the computer screen.

Now I write to keep my demons at bay, it does help when you try to exorcise me over the internet.

I am broken, leave the mess be, read my blog and have a nice fricken’ day.

And remember… I am awesome.

Thanks for reading. My outburst has exhausted, now don’t we all feel better.

If you have a problem with anything within this post please comment and I am sure I will get straight back to you with some wonderful butterfly and rainbow words of wisdom and where the hell you can go.

Alex

Related articles

• Viewpoints: How offensive are ‘psycho’ patient costumes?
• The Mental Insanity of This Person, by These People, is for Those People and Shall Not Perish from This Earth
• Dani Garavelli: A victory for mental illness awareness
• R. D. Laing and Anti-Psychopathology: The Myth of Mental Illness Redux
• Time to change the language we use about mental health | Mind your language
• The Psycho Writer.
• Editing client published second comedic novel
• ABC NSW mental health toolbox.

Letter to my Future Children

Hey kids, this Dad.

This is a letter to my future children; a small light upon my all darkness.

I want to tell you the story of my life before you were even born, so you know what I was like around the age you are now. First off, dad was a mental patient; the worst time of my life, I almost lost myself which could have reflected on you never being born. But I want you to know, you are my legacy! You will help our blood carry-on, as well as our family name “Kennedy” We have a creative gene within our family, if you do not have it, your children will.

But Dad was a player at one point in his life, he loved the ladies, yes I did. I was never this way inclined before, I couldn’t talk to women before, I missed that chunk of my life when I was mentally ill but I caught up and overtook all those that believe they could talk and dazzle the ladies. And I have loved some stunning women; some hurt me and some I left with the ache. But every one of them I did love. I have my feelings in the right place now and have tried to build bridges.

Now my writings, here we go, my words are all I have; they were all I really had. I write to make sure that when sunlight finally does blush upon your skin, you will not be born into poverty like me and my brothers & sisters were. I want you to know what life is, I don’t want you to be a spoilt brat like some children I see on movies and TV shows. I want you to work for things so you know about self-respect.

Now your Grandma, my mother, is the strongest person I know. She is my evils kryptonite, she backs it away with logic and riddles, the doctors stuck to a script and it didn’t work for me, but she saved my life. She has been through her own wars, which I can see in her eyes. Look after her; we don’t have many people like that on this planet. People are too hectic in nature; no one smells the roses anymore, unless their I-Phone 5 can squirt smells under their noses.

Now please don’t judge me through my writings, it’s my process to keep the voices and urges at bay. But I know I will be proud of you, I will write the most amazing things this world will ever imagine so that you can have the proper upbringing. I will not stop. Yes, I have a dream and there are certain things I would like, but I must work and fight for what I want; you must do the same.

I am not sure exactly sure why I am writing this, but this is just in case there is an accident and I am no longer Earth bound or I have lost it completely and there is no cure for my madness; if that is the case, do not come and visit me, I do not wish for you to see me in that state.

But I will continue to write for you, even if I die, I will send you secret scrolls from Heaven. But I will continue to write, continue to search for a literary agent and work for a life that will benefit you.

I will love you forever.

Dad

Related articles

• Letter: Mental illness and Sandy Hook (wickedlocal.com)
• A letter to my son. Marc. (whynotfathers.com)
• Dad’s Age (rosequinnswritingsinthesky.wordpress.com)
• a perfect display of mental health stigma (mh20somethings.wordpress.com)
• 30 Days of Mental Illness Awareness Challenge- Day 16 (crissi23.wordpress.com)
• I Know Who I Am (justanotherdaysjourney.wordpress.com)
• How To Land A Top Literary Agent (robertjrgraham.com)
• How I Got My Literary Agent (sarahepps.com)