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Description
All my years of writing I never would imagine that I wouldn't be writing to please the mass or the few, I refuse to corrupt my writings to make them plausible for simple people in the world. Ninety percent of my days are surrounded by the words of the past and the other ten is just my expression what I call the voices in my head. Singing along to the one note band across the street with shackles on their feet, they play the lonesome sound of laughter in a miscarried quartet. When things turn to the actuality in life I seek the non-fictitious side to drown out my coarse soul, never did I want to sit in a mass of people with the man sitting there using his cattle prod leading me to the edge of sanity quicker. Many of you haven't read anything I wrote for months or even years, yet I put this out because I have no other release in my life since I gave up my true love, whiskey. Honesty never showing a life that is easy or rough, take it in like a sponge absorb the pain the misery and the heartache of life and spew it out faster than any said pistol.

Told as a child, never really listened at all about what they said because in the back of my head the positives would never be positive. Branding myself as a scholar of the dark ritualistic side of life, my life and personal teachings have brought me to the reasoning I will never be a simple soul. Brought the havoc and sadistic side to dementia as I slowly sit back on the asphalt jungle, this is why I am not a self proclaimed righteous human since I don't believe in myself at all. So stranded out to sea with a few of polytheistic people, sipping each day away with some brandy as I say I will never be a writer for you or me. Me, I am just a writer for no one.

Description
All my years of writing I never would imagine that I wouldn't be writing to please the mass or the few, I refuse to corrupt my writings to make them plausible for simple people in the world. Ninety percent of my days are surrounded by the words of the past and the other ten is just my expression what I call the voices in my head. Singing along to the one note band across the street with shackles on their feet, they play the lonesome sound of laughter in a miscarried quartet. When things turn to the actuality in life I seek the non-fictitious side to drown out my coarse soul, never did I want to sit in a mass of people with the man sitting there using his cattle prod leading me to the edge of sanity quicker. Many of you haven't read anything I wrote for months or even years, yet I put this out because I have no other release in my life since I gave up my true love, whiskey. Honesty never showing a life that is easy or rough, take it in like a sponge absorb the pain the misery and the heartache of life and spew it out faster than any said pistol.

Told as a child, never really listened at all about what they said because in the back of my head the positives would never be positive. Branding myself as a scholar of the dark ritualistic side of life, my life and personal teachings have brought me to the reasoning I will never be a simple soul. Brought the havoc and sadistic side to dementia as I slowly sit back on the asphalt jungle, this is why I am not a self proclaimed righteous human since I don't believe in myself at all. So stranded out to sea with a few of polytheistic people, sipping each day away with some brandy as I say I will never be a writer for you or me. Me, I am just a writer for no one.