Panhead13

We're marching in, though we can't see ahead; You're seeing stars, but I'm seeing red. And we're in this for a wild ride, In our twenty-first century suicide. Welcome to a world where wrong is right, Where up is down, where black is white. We've blurred the lines so you can't pick a side, For our twenty-first century suicide. "I am woman, hear me roar!" As you mock the virgin and praise the whore. You're the useful pawn of a turning tide, In this twenty-first century suicide. Are you tired of smoking and of booze? Well we got some new drugs for you to use! We have everything you never tried, Including twenty-first century suicide. Toss out th

The ammunition's in the chamber Before he ever touched the gun. And before he put his finger on the trigger The slaughter has already been done. Why do you blame the tool for blood shed? It is a cold, lifeless piece of steel. Blame instead the cruelest heart, Twisted to hurt instead of heal. Hit and run, this our day and age, Where the passing fad is hate and rage. This is the world on a bedrock of unyielding despair, Each gun shot its own godless prayer. The pressure begins to rise, Our vitriol rises at fever pitch. All it takes are a few poisoned words, and an atrocity born without a hitch. Toxic words through radio static Stoke the flames

    I like to think of myself as a writer, an author, and a voracious reader. I also am a Christian.    And to some extent, I can't stand so-called "Christian" writing.    This is not indicative of the entirety of the genre of literature. I have not read every "Christian" book out there, nor do I intend to. And there have been books that don't follow this trend, do not get me wrong, but from my (amateur) opinion, I am driven crazy by so-called "Christian" literature (I use "Christian" in quotes for a specific reason, explained later). I repeat, I AM NOT SAYING THIS APPLIES TO EVERY PIECE OF CHRISTIAN FICTION!!!    I could tell the differen

    It was about halfway through the beating when John realized they weren't taking him seriously.    The two thugs had pinned him against the cold, pitted cement wall and were punching him in the gut. That hurt. He had received fighting training, held a third degree black belt, but he always managed to forget that being hit hurt. A lot.    The thug's next punch drove out what little breath he managed to suck in. They were calling him names. Some he couldn't hear over his ribs being pummeled, others were too profane and gross for him to think of.    They relented and John crumpled to the ground. "Idiot," one of them -probably the leader fr