psychofr3akartjoker

I need to write I strive but the words escape me I look down at my hands, still, they disappoint me Taking a breath I empty my mind through them they question my thoughts and freeze and crawl they lie limp and dead on the keyboard Am i a failure do i give up, should i try again? No i think not I'm done writing... at least for today and yet i am always coming back

Justice his only goal stopped by nothing, he embraces his fear descending into a dark hole one most would not even draw near Clothed in darkness he fights the night beating smashing all who dare to stand his dark embrace allows to shine forth light this other side of the coin finds him bland His painted smile hides his face in plain sight for all to see pursuing chaos with an inhuman grace he smiles at Knight, with antipathy Wind blown and in the dark red, black white all clown their contrast so vividly stark sing song voice beckons down A powerful clash is heard felt and feared everywhere when these opposites collide Knigh

It was freezing. He was freezing. They were frozen. ...    Steve sat huddled in the corner of the car. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself as he slowly rocked back and forth. His nose had long since stopped bleeding as the blood that had flown so freely was now frozen mass down the front of his shirt. His blond hair stood in dark contrast with the darkness that surrounded him. The car in which he was sitting was on its side in the middle of the road. His back rested on what had once been the roof. Pieces of glass were strewn about his feet, evidence to the severity of this recent catastrophe.     Steve wished he could move to

Joseph H. Kelly did not think he was a proud man, not in the traditional sense, though he was often accused of this crime. He was proud of many things, as all men are, but so far as having the arrogant pride of the nobles of old, this he felt he did not. Of the few things he was proud of however, the foremost was, his beloved bank. He hated that it was called a bank for in his mind it rose high above the rabble that were the other banks, they squawked and fought for every penny. When thinking on this, as he often did, he surmised that a comparison between the knights of old and the soldiers of today was an adequate comparison. In the medieval

Description bleeds from my eyes dripping always down onto my hands, you see, they are red, My paper, my parchment, my opportunity white as the snow until in red it finds its beauty Scenes I create , never for nothing, each line tears life, my canvas, blank walls all waiting my command Naked and bleeding I spin, the walls eager, smile In short, on the long, I grow ever more tired Finished, where is white to be found none more can be written here,I come to a stop haggard and old without a drop of crimson life Knees bent head bowed my tears leak, pure and everything fades

Black red drip drip It was supposed to be fun walking there without a care it happened so fast it was done left asking who when where Black red drip drip we were running across the street never heard the engine gunning or seen a car so fleet Black red drip drip The color of night he sped out of the darkness no chance to put up a fight no one had seen such starkness Black red drip drip crimson in the night spilled laying in the street shaking she was soon to have been killed weeping quietly they watch her, quaking Black red drip drip car crashed driver dead his blood dripping off the steering wheel face crushed, his head

his face is seen, his words are heard his intentions are more easily concealed a chameleon, he sheds his persona just as we throw out the trash you may meet him, speak with him his perfect composure disarming it is only later his cold hands slit your throat you can run, but how can you hide from a shadow from what you do not know surrounded, boxed in I see my prison this world they laugh and they cry for they are real I hate them for the ease with which they feel though it has been said that I feel, laugh even my laughter however is not something you would ever wish to hear for it comes unbidden, unwanted, and uncalled for wh

The greatest light shines far to brightly.  Its scorching light refusing to come from only above; Instead it emanates from every crevice and crack of the old building.  The hanging sign creaks softly in the moaning wind, only fragments of what was once written there remain.  The irony lies in that even the sign seems to have rebelled against everything taught there, doing so with the simple drop of a letter.   The breeze is a teasing hope that is all but forgotten.  Rustling weeds wave there hands joyously steadfastly rejoicing in any weather. Their pale green is the only sign of life in this barren concrete wasteland.  Walls that once stood

Blink nod cattle prod Scream writhe you're alive Kiss bliss this you'll miss Death life end of knife Smile frown you might drown Grab rip here's a tip Unknown thought this is not Make sense no Feel alive till you are not Why the aggression smile Upside down and cry I laugh at my own pain perpetual comedy Free verse screw patterns Able to understand this Probably not Dark thoughts conceal easily Happy ones tend to bubble out on occasion Laughing as I write this Humour is the true sign of a madman It is ok though, I don't know where you live