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Dead soul eyes Numbed brain the spectre of you a ghostly pain Oil on water iridescent sheen the clearest skies I've ever seen I want my piece I want my slice of cheap Valhalla paradise forgive...
The hallway smelled like death. You could hear the moans and screams of the people being hit, stabbed, shot, thrown. And the smell.
In anger you clench your fist - not driven by violence but in desperation of trying to hold on to the last thread of a clear mind.
Wake Up Quick. They are coming, coming, Blood in their eyes. Gunpowder on their faces. Fire in their hands. Destruction in their hearts And your house is the target.
Monday, the 30th of April 2012 the calendar showed as David Leeds Evans looked up and stared blankly at it. The classroom was quiet, maybe even a little too quiet.
As Rob lay stabbed, all he could think about was Kezza. About how much she meant to him, and about her beauty.
Love is in the eye of the beholder so I will scrape both eyes out.
There's an old man who many do mock. He’s long in the tooth and short in the cock. Like birds to a worm the gossips flock. They point and they shout, his fingers unlock.
Uhuru. I shout the word over and over in my head. Uhuru. Uhuru. Uhuru. I look at Amy. Blood is running over her whole body. I can't see a speck of her silken brown fur under the crimson blanket. Mr.
My hands closed in around his delicate throat as I felt his body thrash underneath me, powerless. I was always two steps ahead of him, my body quicker than his.
Misty, like the acrobat she was, dove over a large pipe that hung in mid-air, and then landed on both feet to give Kajj a final smash to the head.
Walked through the valley of shadow and death, Grab by the necked and choked to death, Only there was left there spirits, Blood all over the fucking floor she cried as they tortured her some...
Please say what you think no oh that was good when you thought it was rubbish truth.
There's blood at the window. Blood on the bed. Blood in the ashtray. Blood from my head. In pools by the door. In lakes in the bath. Painting the walls. There's red by the draft.
They pushed me against the wall and shoved their dirty hands into my pockets, to reveal nothing but a wallet with no credit cards and $10 in it.
Killing is my Profession I slit his throat rather too quickly. Now, I regretted having to do it as it took away my artistic skills in creating a masterpiece of his death rather than an ordinary one.
*This is a story I've made up in poem form. It is relatively long so I appreciate anyone who reads it.* Meet AJ. AJ grew up in the ghetto with no father.
"Stop. Please. Leave me alone!" Mel screams in agony, their words stinging the air, and their actions killing her. And for the first time, they do. They leave her, leave her on the floor, broken.
I fucking live off coffee and cigarettes, to be honest i just don't give a shit , thats deff another lie, affirmed by my predisposition to cry. I claim to be emotionless when really I'm overrun by it.
Jules: What does Marsellus Wallace look like. Brett: What. Jules: [Flips table out of the way] What country are you from. Brett: What. Jules: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of.