The Accent of Death, The Fine Line between Madness, To Find the Insane and The Untouchable Creatures
“The Accent of Death”
(The Voice that Talks to a Killer Inside His Head)
The mind bridges the gap between the sane and the insane.
What eats the brain into submission that takes over its transgressions,
cutting off the transmissions which raises the questions?
What makes friction between the skull and the spine, makes the picture clearer inside, deep where things hide a shatter of diamonds, a prism of thoughts, and a tunnel of hallucinations that clamber times walls?
Bridges between realities.
Bridges between ones fantasies.
Bridges burnt down by pure insanity.
Bridges from right to left to let them tell you who you are.
Is there a bridge to clarity?
Is there a color for every mood?
Don’t be the one who creates the gap; be the bridge to clarity.
Show them all who you really are. Toil with them; leave them clues.
You are immortal; no one can stop you.
There will be no one before you, and there will be no one after you
who can cheat death like you do.
Go ahead; take the hand of demise, and watch your numbers grow.
It does not mater who; you are the king of deaths thrown.
You wear a crown of bones, watch them scream, and cry for help; your strength just grows.
They will beg and plead for you not to do harm, but you choose their fate now.
Show them who you are; show them what you can do; show them their own fear,
and devour it like a life line to your murky soul.
You are invincible.
You stand alone against all who do not understand you.
You are the God of death.
You stand alone against this world
By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/13/10
“The Fine Line between Madness”
(Bio Poem of a Detective)
The sight in my head will not leave my psyche.
All my dreams are meshed into long nightmares.
I have seen things that only morticians can stomach,
and pictures, pictures, thousands of pictures I have taken of things that only
animals are capable of doing.
Blood; I have seen my share of others blood my friend;
thanking God that it is not my own or my loved ones.
To sleep without waking, to somehow put a curtain over the wall of faces in my mind, would only mask the reason why I am here.
To come face to face with the monsters
is the hardest part to feel some kind of sanity,
while you are behind the looking glass
into their tirades and moments of complete dead silence.
Some how, I must tame the dark side inside myself from becoming like them.
It is what separates us from each other, that line, that fine thin line between madness and the cliff into our own burning hell.
By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/11/10
“To Find the Insane”
(The Look into a Killers Mind)
Where does the mind start to die?
Where does the mind start to unfold like a book of memories unwanted?
Where does it start to take shape?
Where does the mold break into pieces?
Every mind differs in every way, a plethora of labyrinth guided truths and falsehoods.
Where does ones reality become psychopathic fantasy?
Where does the change take its course within them?
Are they without any reality at all?
The path of one mind opens to you,
not able to see all the moves that betray your common sense of morality.
The challenge of carnage lies in front of you;
your mind will deceive you, and leave you flustered in a cluster of doubts.
What is your reality?
What is your fantasy?
Who is to say that the mentally insane are sick,
and not the ones who think they have it together?
Who treats those who treat the insane or are the insane treating them?
By John McKinley Pride Jr
7/27/10
“The Untouchable Creatures”
(A Look from a Psychologists’ Chair with a Killer)
The mind.
A simple cage for some.
You can fill it with whatever creature you want.
What happens when that cage
is filled with something full of rage?
When the creature in that cage is teased, and when the creature in that cage
becomes not just a creature, do you dare open it?
Do you dare figure out how to tame it, and do you dare try to find what makes it tick?
What of your mind?
It is but a simple cage as well.
What happens when their cage is sat down next to yours?
Will the creature start to mimic the other? Will the creature become docile,
or will the creature in your cage go insane?
What are we to become in this world, full of aberrant nature that thrives off
sinful lifestyles of others?
It is true you cannot touch the untouchables, but however they can touch you ,
not only through the physical aspects of life, but through the sites that are thrown in your face on a daily measured scale, thrashing your mind in a blender of tormented visions, equaling to the very fear they feed off, thrive off and devour with a sick delight.
In this world, it takes all types; but, it only takes one to make that final decision
to pick the cage up and rattle it till the creature inside that cage is pushed
to the point of even killing itself.
Be careful on how you rattle the cage; it just might be your last.
By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/15/10
(The Voice that Talks to a Killer Inside His Head)
The mind bridges the gap between the sane and the insane.
What eats the brain into submission that takes over its transgressions,
cutting off the transmissions which raises the questions?
What makes friction between the skull and the spine, makes the picture clearer inside, deep where things hide a shatter of diamonds, a prism of thoughts, and a tunnel of hallucinations that clamber times walls?
Bridges between realities.
Bridges between ones fantasies.
Bridges burnt down by pure insanity.
Bridges from right to left to let them tell you who you are.
Is there a bridge to clarity?
Is there a color for every mood?
Don’t be the one who creates the gap; be the bridge to clarity.
Show them all who you really are. Toil with them; leave them clues.
You are immortal; no one can stop you.
There will be no one before you, and there will be no one after you
who can cheat death like you do.
Go ahead; take the hand of demise, and watch your numbers grow.
It does not mater who; you are the king of deaths thrown.
You wear a crown of bones, watch them scream, and cry for help; your strength just grows.
They will beg and plead for you not to do harm, but you choose their fate now.
Show them who you are; show them what you can do; show them their own fear,
and devour it like a life line to your murky soul.
You are invincible.
You stand alone against all who do not understand you.
You are the God of death.
You stand alone against this world
By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/13/10
“The Fine Line between Madness”
(Bio Poem of a Detective)
The sight in my head will not leave my psyche.
All my dreams are meshed into long nightmares.
I have seen things that only morticians can stomach,
and pictures, pictures, thousands of pictures I have taken of things that only
animals are capable of doing.
Blood; I have seen my share of others blood my friend;
thanking God that it is not my own or my loved ones.
To sleep without waking, to somehow put a curtain over the wall of faces in my mind, would only mask the reason why I am here.
To come face to face with the monsters
is the hardest part to feel some kind of sanity,
while you are behind the looking glass
into their tirades and moments of complete dead silence.
Some how, I must tame the dark side inside myself from becoming like them.
It is what separates us from each other, that line, that fine thin line between madness and the cliff into our own burning hell.
By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/11/10
“To Find the Insane”
(The Look into a Killers Mind)
Where does the mind start to die?
Where does the mind start to unfold like a book of memories unwanted?
Where does it start to take shape?
Where does the mold break into pieces?
Every mind differs in every way, a plethora of labyrinth guided truths and falsehoods.
Where does ones reality become psychopathic fantasy?
Where does the change take its course within them?
Are they without any reality at all?
The path of one mind opens to you,
not able to see all the moves that betray your common sense of morality.
The challenge of carnage lies in front of you;
your mind will deceive you, and leave you flustered in a cluster of doubts.
What is your reality?
What is your fantasy?
Who is to say that the mentally insane are sick,
and not the ones who think they have it together?
Who treats those who treat the insane or are the insane treating them?
By John McKinley Pride Jr
7/27/10
“The Untouchable Creatures”
(A Look from a Psychologists’ Chair with a Killer)
The mind.
A simple cage for some.
You can fill it with whatever creature you want.
What happens when that cage
is filled with something full of rage?
When the creature in that cage is teased, and when the creature in that cage
becomes not just a creature, do you dare open it?
Do you dare figure out how to tame it, and do you dare try to find what makes it tick?
What of your mind?
It is but a simple cage as well.
What happens when their cage is sat down next to yours?
Will the creature start to mimic the other? Will the creature become docile,
or will the creature in your cage go insane?
What are we to become in this world, full of aberrant nature that thrives off
sinful lifestyles of others?
It is true you cannot touch the untouchables, but however they can touch you ,
not only through the physical aspects of life, but through the sites that are thrown in your face on a daily measured scale, thrashing your mind in a blender of tormented visions, equaling to the very fear they feed off, thrive off and devour with a sick delight.
In this world, it takes all types; but, it only takes one to make that final decision
to pick the cage up and rattle it till the creature inside that cage is pushed
to the point of even killing itself.
Be careful on how you rattle the cage; it just might be your last.
By John McKinley Pride Jr
8/15/10
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