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Mental Asylum Entry 5
Annoying voices echo through my mind. They are yelling and screaming to be set free. Make them stop. Please! I'm going to go crazy soon. Make it stop. They voices are strange. They are constantly talking, asking me questions, trying to interact with me. Louder and louder they talk, all trying to get my attention at once. It feels like my head is going to explode. Fuck it all! Let me claw my ears off, slash my own throat, and put me out of my misery. So long as the voices stop, I will die a thousand times.
Mental Asylum Entry 4
I cry for help.
I scream in pain.
I bleed to death.
I kill for revenge.
I cry because I'm sad.
I scream because I'm insane.
I bleed because I'm human.
I kill because it's fun.
I cry when I'm scared.
I scream when they come.
I bleed when I'm cut.
I kill when they get close.
Mental Asylum Entry 3
How ironic. A sweet, innocent girl writing, fantasizing, about holding a knife and slitting someone's throat. Can you imagine what kind of chaos that would bring? No one would know who to trust anymore. Of course, no one is exactly how they seem. A quiet, shy girl is the type you have to mainly look out for. They are the ones usually scheming against society. Plotting to take down anyone that crosses their path. Lovely isn't it? How she can simply imagine what the blood will smell, feel, taste, and look like. You can often see her stretching her hand, making it seem as if she is aching from writing so much but in reality, she yearns to hold a bloody knife and kill every last person on earth, except for a select few.
Mental Asylum Entry 2
"These creatures of my nightmares cannot be described. They are fear. They are insecurity. They are desire. They have no true form in the dream world. They appear as shadows. These shadows, they feed off your tears and screams. They love it! These creatures love to hear your screams as they devour your soul." Laughs. "They come to life, becoming stronger the longer you sleep. And the stronger they become the harder it is to awaken from your hell. They kill you in your sleep. And as you take your last breath, you're in peace. Probably the only moment of peace you will get in all your life." She shrugs and walks away, toward the back of her cell, retreating into the darkness. "Then again, the nightmares never truly fade from your mind. They simply find another host. I know because they have told me, right before they began slashing at me, tearing my body to shreds."
Mental Asylum Entry 1
"How I long to hold the handle of a knife pressed against the palm of my hand, the sleek silver blade pointed at any and all possible enemies." Fear drained from her eyes and insanity replaced it as an eerie grin creeps across her ghostly face. "How long has it since been that I slashed the throat of an enemy? Three? Four weeks?" She chuckles softly, stepping forward, licking her lips. "I can still taste the bitter sweet blood on my lips as it sprayed from the cut in their throat." Her eyes flicker around, watching the fear creep into the other patients' hearts. "What's wrong? Do my thoughts frighten you? Good. They should. You should be afraid that your lives may be taken." Her grin grew, teeth now showing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "The only thing to fear is fear itself and the shadows that hide in the corners of your dreams."
Frozen Night _Nightingale_Why am I scared of the darkness that surrounds me?
The darkness that I have come to be fond of?
At night, I sit at my window,
Waiting for the darkness to break and watch the moon shine through.
The cool night air makes me feel safe.
The feel of my nerves tensing at the cool touch
Thrills me as it sends shivers up my body.
Oh, how I wish to hear the nightingale sing it's sorrowful song.
I love sitting here, at my windows edge,
Looking down at the darkened world below.
A small light from above is all it takes,
To make me feel safer in this darkness.
For if it were true on these nights,
I would not dare to even look out my closed window,
In fear that the darkness will enter and capture me as I stand in it's path.
Still, I open it to listen,
To watch the nightingale fly by,
Waiting for it to sing it's frozen song on these
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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