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Literature Text
Deep, deep into the Black Forest there stands
what some call a nuthouse, a mad man's land.
An asylum, in a less colloquial sense -
and this one with particularily high fence.
Oh, the denizens are of the worst kind.
They snigger and snicker, out of their mind.
One of those insane men truly is sad.
All he wants is see the world burn.. a tad.
"How unfair," a voice in his mind replies,
"That we cannot watch flames fly to the skies!"
This most special fellow writhed on the floor;
lost in himself, truly mad to the core.
And though his hands were firmly tied
his tongue was not - it spit, it lied!
Through blisters it sang a distorted chant
'bout an insect known as the fire ant:
"Oh sweetheart my fire! - just like an ant
you cannot feed off scorched earth nor dead plants!
They will learn to know the beast never tame
and those runts will stop badmouthing our name!"
Truly spoken, this madman looked grotesque,
as though he arose from a dadaist's desk.
His head jerked up when he heard a bright bell -
it meant that someone came visit his cell.
"I wonder, will it be that mean old man
or just an orderly with a spray can?"
Thus mocked the thoughtful voice inside his head
though Steve could not feel anything but dread.
The good guest who was about to arrive
was who jailed him in this miserable life.
The door to his homey den swung open -
revealed the man who knew no emotion.
The residents called him the 'Interloper',
known but for torture, over and over.
He said: "Steve, my friend! How long has it been!"
"Too long," he replied with quite toothy a grin.
"Oh, Steve.. your tongue does not look all that nice,
though I believe the blisters are okay a price -
given that I explained the rules all clear:
torture or be straitjacketed a year?"
Steve, who had different plans for his time,
knew the straitjacket would well ruin his prime;
so he agreed to keep his chance of becoming free -
a momentous decision as he would soon see.
what some call a nuthouse, a mad man's land.
An asylum, in a less colloquial sense -
and this one with particularily high fence.
Oh, the denizens are of the worst kind.
They snigger and snicker, out of their mind.
One of those insane men truly is sad.
All he wants is see the world burn.. a tad.
"How unfair," a voice in his mind replies,
"That we cannot watch flames fly to the skies!"
This most special fellow writhed on the floor;
lost in himself, truly mad to the core.
And though his hands were firmly tied
his tongue was not - it spit, it lied!
Through blisters it sang a distorted chant
'bout an insect known as the fire ant:
"Oh sweetheart my fire! - just like an ant
you cannot feed off scorched earth nor dead plants!
They will learn to know the beast never tame
and those runts will stop badmouthing our name!"
Truly spoken, this madman looked grotesque,
as though he arose from a dadaist's desk.
His head jerked up when he heard a bright bell -
it meant that someone came visit his cell.
"I wonder, will it be that mean old man
or just an orderly with a spray can?"
Thus mocked the thoughtful voice inside his head
though Steve could not feel anything but dread.
The good guest who was about to arrive
was who jailed him in this miserable life.
The door to his homey den swung open -
revealed the man who knew no emotion.
The residents called him the 'Interloper',
known but for torture, over and over.
He said: "Steve, my friend! How long has it been!"
"Too long," he replied with quite toothy a grin.
"Oh, Steve.. your tongue does not look all that nice,
though I believe the blisters are okay a price -
given that I explained the rules all clear:
torture or be straitjacketed a year?"
Steve, who had different plans for his time,
knew the straitjacket would well ruin his prime;
so he agreed to keep his chance of becoming free -
a momentous decision as he would soon see.
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Kevin
He’d never been a religious man, but he firmly believed that humanity needed a helping hand. That was probably why he had volunteered at the homeless shelter not far from the local church, gave to charity, helped the criminally insane get back on their feet, and all the other small things that he felt made the world a little more bearable for the unfortunate souls in the area. And the one that Elisabeth had brought in certainly qualified.
During his time as a psychologist (which, all things considered, wasn’t that long, since he’d only been an intern for a short while), he had always dreamed of getting a case like him. He k
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Bloody Randy vs. Jeff the Killer (Part 1)
Jeff Woods, better known as Jeff the Killer, was currently seventeen years old. It had only been four years since he became the killer he was known as today. As he walked in the silent, moonlit night, he began thinking of where to kill next. Usually he'd space out his killings, making sure that no victim was too close to the previous. Then it would be more terrifying - people would never know where he'd strike next.
'Here's far enough,' Jeff thought as he walked through a small village. His previous kill had been in the centre of a far away city. 'Now I just need to pick a house which may hold a victim in need of rest...' Most of the houses h
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My Purgatory: Poem
Yo! This'll prolly be the last post that I’ll make for awhile
My view on myself is way too hostile
I'm sorry to my family
I'm sorry to my friends
I'm sorry to the woman I’d be crushing again
I hate feeling like this
Every day I try to fight it
I look calm and chill, fake a smile and even say I’m ok
While my nights be full of pain
And the days are the same
Right now the reaper's in the room visiting
So if I do leave you at least you'll know why I did it then
Feeling as if I’m not good enough
I have trust and faith for the future
Execute everyday cause I’m the producer
But Goddamnit I feel like a loser
I feel like
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The Colours of your Soul
I saw a pastel pink sunset
engulfing the evening sky
(such a soothing sight)
I heard many anecdotes,
smiled as if I was there,
even hoped that one day I'd have a story to tell myself
You once called be Rapunzel
You'll never see how long my hair has gotten now
One phonecall
changed everything
I want to grieve for you
in my detached way
-I'm barely apart of this
only the observer that watches lives
dissoluted from your passing
They say you liked pink
and this sunset is pink
Maybe I'm just searching for symbolism
in a place deprived of all sentiment
But I find a comfort it its swirls
of diluted ruby shades
I was unfortunate not
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Listen, Politician
Listen, politician,
Tell me what you see.
We protest and we plea,
Don’t you see us try to flee
From your reign of tyranny?
Or are you on your spending spree?
Your eyes are on our flag,
Your hand is o’er your heart.
Your lips speak of a nation that couldn’t be more apart.
What principles will you impart,
To commence us a new start?
Listen, politician,
Lend your eyes to what we see.
Listen, politician,
Tell me what you hear.
All our panic, all our fear,
You must hear it loud and clear,
Or will our problems disappear,
If you just stay another year?
We listen to you read
Your prepared and humble creed,
While you ramb
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i loved you like a sunset
when i look at you, i don't see constellations.
you're not a galaxy or a nebula or
cosmic eyes,
your veins are not full of stardust and your heart doesn't beat through your chest to the rhythm of the universe.
you are not celestial.
when i look at you, i see blue skies and
wispy train-track clouds.
you're a dewy morning and alabaster sheets,
you're the earth and the way leaves crunch beneath your feet and
you're a rainbow while it's raining.
there are hurricanes forming in your eyes,
but i am not afraid (and neither are you).
i grew so used to paralleling stars to
hearts that i forgot not everyone is born from
shattering cosmos, stitched to
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Hello
Hello, I say. Can you hear me?
I wish to talk to you, but you never seem to hear me.
Can you even see me? I'm standing right here, growing further and further away.
Why do you keep on pushing me back? Hello? Answer me, please. I cannot bear this churning feeling wrenching my heart apart, tears itching at my eyes but don't fall; my throat closing up, a wish to scream on the tip of my lips.
Hello? I call, uncertain and afraid. Is anybody home?
Nothing. An abandoned house with a doll trotting about. I'm that doll, aren't I? A dancing doll. That's what you want, isn't it? For me to follow your whims and advises; to be a good girl.
My fe
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God loved the two girls at the end of my street.
Everywhere they went, they went together,
hand-in-hand so they didn't get lost,
laughing at everything and nothing
all at once.
He was so proud of them.
They never stole, they never swore,
they brushed their teeth twice a day
and always said their prayers.
It was a gift, said the townspeople,
that two girls as perfect as they were
were born in the same place.
an even greater gift, said they,
that those two were the best of friends.
Long nights spent giggling in rooms with closed doors
was a good thing, back then.
One day,
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and in the middle of th
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i wanted you but memory will do
i wore a locket around my neck
full of stardust that fell on the nights we stayed
away from the bonfire
because you understood that i can't breathe well in crowds
without me having to say a word.
i took your hand as we walked through the woods because
i was scared of
crossing strangers on narrow paths and
i would let go again when we passed them by but
your fingers lingered and i still wonder if maybe
you had hoped that mine would too.
i can't run like you do but
i do it anyway,
at this point i'm a runaway
(get it, i run away from everything that scares me)
here one day, gone the next,
with no trace that i ever existed except for a whiff of
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Questions: Is this what equality looks like?
If we are already equal,
then why are there still people
marching in the streets
with “____ lives matter” signs
just as there were people
who marched in the sixties
with “I am a man” signs?
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Hostage
you already know you are my inspiration
my muse
without you
this would be a vast expanse
of empty space
you are the powerhouse
of this city
the beacon
within this lighthouse
if you will lend me your light
then we will shine
for all the world
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Youtube...
Youtube,
What a sight,
To be turned,
Into an awful website.
Once a place,
For creators alike,
Is now a nightmare,
Coming to life.
With Reactionists,
Who do nothing but sit,
And watch the money fly,
As they steal videos full time.
Pranksters,
The rudest of all,
Getting in fights,
While screaming in might,
But no one comes,
But waits for the fall.
While Animators,
Who once were great,
Now are let's players,
Who's lives are at stake.
And the copyright system,
What a joke,
To say that its fair,
To the next-
BAM!
Your Channel's vanished,
With no explanation,
Even after the termination.
When I was younger,
I called this my home,
A place for
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This is the introduction to my Mad Man Steve series and also the introduction to the book Darkness Come which I am working on right now!
- Chapter 2
Revised April 24th '14: - Worked on wording
Revised May 21st '14: - New structure -> Quatrains!
- Chapter 2
Revised April 24th '14: - Worked on wording
Revised May 21st '14: - New structure -> Quatrains!
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I noticed in your artist's comment that this was meant to be an introduction into a series, and I must say that you could not have done a better job. Line by line it pulls the reader in, showing them the mind of this lunatic and making them read on to see exactly what happens next.
The part where Steve begins to talk about the fire ants threw me off a little as I had to stop and think about just why he would hate the little critters so much. Does it weigh on the story later? Is it a clear message that I cannot wrap my head around? Or is it just the rambling of a pyromaniac?
I am also very interest in this Interloper character and cannot wait to continue on with this series.