Put the pen to paper and cut deceased flesh of tree. Murderous prose sent through slashing pen. Pen bleeding ink; though not the victim but the weapon of choice to inflict damage upon paper.
The wielder a mad man, driven insane by the whispers in his head. To yield to them would be to bow on bended and bloodied knee to an all encompassing and tyrannical insanity.
A shaky hand trembles and tears across tattered tree bark, the tree bark but a mere shell of its former glory. Chosen in its posthumous form to be a medium for a much greater purpose. To cradle the thoughts that the mad man so often fights to hold back, but always in futility.The paper is whipped and slashed like a slave, scars of lettering tattooed forever on its literally paper thin body.
The vilest form of imagination at the reigns of the poor mad man's thoughts. His soft brain pulsating within his twisted chamber of a skull as it regurgitates verses from its darkest reaches.
Fueled by the fiery desire to let the madness loose upon the world, the mad man writes on, though he knows few, if any will even fathom a fraction of it. For even he doubts whether there is method to his macabre minded madness.
One hand to his temples, he clamps his fingers into his forehead as the other delivers shocking material to the paper like an electric charge. The head channeling dark fantasy through the five fingered conduit, words carelessly clamouring and clinging to a creepy chapter. A candle dances deliriously to the mad man's scribbling tune and throws eerie shadows across the walls. If these walls could talk, then their lips had been stitched and sealed long ago for fear of what they would have revealed.
O''the madness!
The wielder a mad man, driven insane by the whispers in his head. To yield to them would be to bow on bended and bloodied knee to an all encompassing and tyrannical insanity.
A shaky hand trembles and tears across tattered tree bark, the tree bark but a mere shell of its former glory. Chosen in its posthumous form to be a medium for a much greater purpose. To cradle the thoughts that the mad man so often fights to hold back, but always in futility.The paper is whipped and slashed like a slave, scars of lettering tattooed forever on its literally paper thin body.
The vilest form of imagination at the reigns of the poor mad man's thoughts. His soft brain pulsating within his twisted chamber of a skull as it regurgitates verses from its darkest reaches.
Fueled by the fiery desire to let the madness loose upon the world, the mad man writes on, though he knows few, if any will even fathom a fraction of it. For even he doubts whether there is method to his macabre minded madness.
One hand to his temples, he clamps his fingers into his forehead as the other delivers shocking material to the paper like an electric charge. The head channeling dark fantasy through the five fingered conduit, words carelessly clamouring and clinging to a creepy chapter. A candle dances deliriously to the mad man's scribbling tune and throws eerie shadows across the walls. If these walls could talk, then their lips had been stitched and sealed long ago for fear of what they would have revealed.
O''the madness!
