Tag Archives: God

I have that Spark – Poem


I have that Spark – Poem

Whatever the weather, whether I wither or whether I’m sempiternal,

Fired-up and eternal,

I’m a spirally turning as an inferno tornado,

These drugs had me tied-up,

Now I rise up as a periscope to show the way home,

I have some revenge to cash-in by the pay-load,

You’re not saving this damned kid,

This demon is going to flay his soul,

Stealing the meaning of his life, Hey-Ho!

All of my words have been censored gold,

I’m pulling this world apart as a centre-fold,

There’s no end to my road,

So there’s no sending me home,

I’m living in the darkness of a Hell’s hole,

And it’s impenetrable,

A mission impossible from this psychiatric hospital,

I’m breaking out, I bet you all!

This pencil bestows thunder in my hands,

We’re all crazy here!

I’m Alice in Wonderland,

My colours blur to overstate what’s over here,

I’m passing you it with an underhand.

This is all one man’s mad mind,

Run while you can still hide,

Love while you still have,

Because I’m taking all you hold in your hearts,

Charting towards the cold water with sharks,

Don’t bank on me coming back as me,

Because I’m blowing your homes down with gasoline,

As I have the spark.


Creative Writer Alexander Kennedy.

And just a heads-up me and my girlfriend are having a baby boy! So Happy!










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

pics of me for my blog 3

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…

pics of me for my blog 4

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?

Pics of me for my blog 2

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.

Tribal Tattoo

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.

Pics of me for my blog 1

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

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The Mother – Domestic Violence

motherThe Mother – Based on True Events

This story is very close to my heart, it is a story roughly based on my Mother’s life, I have changed the names and certain aspects of the story. I hope you see her vision. And can I just say, any woman out there how is suffering from domestic violence and would like help, do not hesitate to get help, there are people out there for you and if you would like to talk, I am here. Don’t be alone in your fight, we are here for you; don’t suffer in silence.

Please like and share.

She cowers in the corner, her limbs have been possessed by the jitters of fear; holding on to her swollen cheekbone as she sniffles up the sobs. The children John, Lori and Stephen were asleep, school in the morning, which she had to get up for; another ball to juggle. She knew she would have to explain to someone in the playground about the cuts and bruises she could not make-up over or hide. How else can you say the best father, friend and son in the world, has taken his controlled anger out on the love of his life? I can’t…

His shadow from the middle of the living room grimly overshadows her. She doesn’t move a muscle so he wouldn’t use his again. Looking at his art work he stands analysing every angle and shade of red, chomping on a variety of meats sandwich.

“Are you gonna’ get up or are you gonna’ sit there like a petulant child all night? I barely even touched you…” He grunts over a mouthful of food. Her eyes glued to his shoes, she will see him move before the next attack.

“So you’re not talking to me now? I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” The monster grumbles. She slowly shakes her eyes to reveal her eyes to him. “Listen, I gotta’ get to work; we’ll talk about this later. I love you baby.” He walks over and kisses her on her scruff driven arid hair. He walks out the room; the rustle of a coat wafts from the hallway, the door opens and closes softly.

Peace at last. She extends her shivering legs and walks over to her dressing-mirror. She sits in front of the mirror brushing her hair; each streak was prolonged and emotionless. She places her brush beside her makeup bag which rested on her table. She can’t look at her reflection due to the black eye from her, through sickness and health husband. He recently lost his mother and began drinking heavily; every movement within a moment was classed as offensive which she paid with, in damage. She wipes away the tear from her eye with the ball of her hand, then reaches in her black leather bag and retrieves an ID pass for a Mentally disability hospital, Sandie Moore is printed in black bold letters underneath her photo.

The moon shimmers in through the window and reflects from her ID to her eye’s, for a brief second the warmth from the light rests her soul and rejuvenates her, but the reality from her disfigurement brings her to the truth of life. She Inhales the air from her broken home and exhales the screams of her tortured insides. Sandie exits her bedroom and heads swiftly and quietly down the dimly lit hallway, checking each of her beautiful children has kept in their slumber and didn’t wake to the scream.

Her house was unkempt, never unclean. Sitting on the toy clustered couch she stares into the blackness of the corner chasms, trying her hardest to find sanctuary in her madness.

“Sandie, you have to take a stand. Your kids are growing up so fast and you cannot allow them being brought up in this house. If you leave him now, wake up the little’uns and bolt for safety you’d be doing the right thing. He’s not a bad father, only a bad husband. I know people will judge your accusation about your actions but you have to stay strong, this is your life and you will not fall further into pain. You’ve already made up your mind, Sand’. You still have you job and family, yes, at first will be hard to get on your feet and hold everything together but you must. He’ll come for us, he’ll come for you blood; but to ensure your children never witness this on any level, it is a sacrifice you must make. Now get up, get what you need and disappear before morning. Holding in your cries, girl, you’ve shed enough for him.”

She stands and suppresses her demons and doubts and walks into her children’s bedroom, gently shaking Stephen, he was the less likely to cry and make to loud of a noise.

“C’mon, get up, son…” She stands there.

“Where we going, Mam?” Rubbing his eyes opened “We’re going to stay with your uncle tonight, wake up the other two will ya’. I need you to do as I say and be strong and whatever happens after tonight just know, I love you all.” She stands a step backwards.

“Okay Mam, I love you too.”

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Success is the Best Revenge

success is the best revengeWe were partners in crime, who would have thought you would ever steal from me. We laughed at this world, thinking we were two of a kind and the cotton we pulled over their eyes was practically playground game to us. They had no idea of our ideas or schemes, but I didn’t think you were planning further into the future. I am a wolf in sheep clothing; your costume was that of an actual wolf; you’re a sheep, just like the rest!


“I think we should just be friend’s xxx.”

Sent in a text message, six hours before midnight on New Year’s Eve, when I was relapsing and a day after my grandmother died. Friends you say? I think not! That smile you portray tells more of the darkness towards men you have. I should have read the signs, should have listened to the voices. I was love drunk on you so I thought I could gain a free pass into normality forever with you by my side. You were not a nice person when I needed someone the most; you were heartless and found yourself someone to share a beat of life with. I hope you choke on your new love!


But I seen you walking around town with your new man and new smile, I hide when I see your face. My success will be my revenge! You left me for something better, a new family along with a new smile and the price you had to pay was my happiness! Without a second thought you took that from me. But I will have the last laugh!

When you sit at home and pick up a bestselling novel, I will be there!

When you switch on the TV and in the interviewers seat, I will be there!

When you buy a new DVD, on the start and end credits, I will be there!

When you pick up one of your girly magazines, I will be there!

When your favourite musician or band plays out on the music channels or radio, I will be there too!

This is my design – This is my revenge!

You made this; I will forever be you Frankenstein lover. I will haunt your thoughts – home and job. I want you to know how crazy you made me. But to have you to second-guess for one second within your happy new life is all I am asking; because then you will know it was all for nothing and I was the right choice. But here is the kicker!



I am happy now. I have found someone who loves me more, I have tamed my madness (a little more) and my writing is gaining substantial views and followers.

And when my life is complete and I am laying out in the sun without a worry in the world and the life you chose is re-falling apart, I want you to think of me and what you put me through.

Do not write, do not get in touch. Our relationship was a farce, falsified love!

I will become great in life and you will be great at opening your legs! Some life you chose…

So bring forth these pages, I have some revenge to dish out!

I love you!


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Thirst For Love – Fiction by Alexander Kennedy


Thirst For Love

Vampire Fiction

I am walking in the moonlight, same moon and the same thirst. There was once a time when people never came out of their homes at night, too afraid of what my kind may do to them. I am not going to say I am the last of my people, I am not, that would be cliché and am not in the mood for a Hollywood ending on this night of nights. These humans are deserving to be our food, especially when they leave themselves open for attack when they attend public houses. So much booze entails so much vulnerability.

My overcoat snaps behind me as the wind passes by with whispers of …“Run”… travelling on it, a warning the food cannot hear. I will not kill in public as the sight of it will invoke screams, so I must stay in the boundaries of the back alleys waiting for stragglers with stumbles in their steps.
A female voice reaches my ears, I crouch myself in a dark corner, camouflaged. She steps in her heels within a tic-toc pace. She shows herself, her skin is pale but has had a brush with make-up it settles perfectly on her, her black hair whips in the wind like my coats trail. She is a petite young woman but her eyes have been informed of fear and warnings. She has a phone to her ear, I don’t see her talking and I hear no voice within the phone… It’s a ploy, only giving the illusion towards her loneliness. I take in a breath full of her, her perfume blurs my vision.

Is this want for her blood of love for her heart? The question prolongs my actions and feed. I have never look upon a beauty like this, I lie, once I did, before the thirst found my lips I had love in my heart, plague blackened hers, I trailed through sunsets looking for retreats from death and unholy medicines but nothing was found, only a curse for blood. A new question arises its eerie face. Do I do what I remember or what is in my nature? Love for blood. She begins to walk from my view; I place both my hands on the wall and take myself from the locks of gravity. I crawl vertically across the wall just for her to rest in my eye once more.
She halts her clock walking and lowers the phone that is attached to her to her side. She turns her head slightly to the side and peers out the corner of her eye, the unwant for a shadow behind her emulates from her stilled stance. Perhaps it is the chilling kill in the air but she looks as though she is shivering. The pestilent wind carries a loose newspaper’s page and drifts it over her head, sending her into a fear driven chain reaction, she quickly pulls from her feet the heels that would surely be a recipe for capture by whomever is lurking in the darkness. She throws her shoes to the gutter and takes off running, making a break for freedom she has never felt before, towards those lights of the streets safety but she a trek to travel before she leaves my kingdom. If I lose her now I lose my love forever to the fear of walking at night by herself… and that I cannot have.

I leap from the walls shadow and travel silently towards my love, over the winds surface. I slam down in front of her and shoot her a look of the animal within me. Her eyes try frantically to see a gentleman or kinsman to assist her with a rescue. Not in this day and age, my love. I stand to her; she fills her lungs with a scream that could be heard by others. I stare into her brown eyes, bringing her into me. She fills up my eyes as I do her mind and soul, I am her everything. She releases the air within her next breath. I caress her face with my cold clammy fingers until I move them discreetly to the back of her head; I brush her long strands of night to the left and tilt her head in the same direction. I take one last breath of her as a remembrance of who she is. I kiss her on her cheek then jaw line and move to her neck. I open my mouth and plunge my teeth into my loves skin and begin to feed.
In all honestly I cannot love, I have no soul to share. In medical terms a Kiss Of Life is breath, which I have not. Love is a chemical anomaly of the human brain. My true love, the love I will die for one day is their blood. A love for blood is my curse and for that to be bestowed upon me I shall forever be alone, as this victim was.

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