Mary sat with Ben outside the corner-store. “Mary,” said Ben, “I like the way you do your hair, but why is it like that?”. Mary does her hair that way because John liked it when she did. “I just thought it was nice” said Mary. “Mary,” said Ben, “Would you ever make your hair another color?”. Mary thought about it for a little bit. “I don’t know Ben, but my hair was purple before”. “Your hair was... » Continue Reading
I’ve been unable to breathe right the entire day. I’ve become disgusting. I don’t care to live, my room has become a rotting mess, I’ve stopped caring about myself, I’ve become ugly. I try so hard to die, I forget how to live. » Continue Reading
I wanted to live until I was 97 years old. 7 is my lucky number, and by the time I hit my 90’s, I think that I would have accepted death, because by then, I would have lived a good life. I wanted to finish highschool at least getting into one honors class before I graduated. I never wanted to fail my classes, and I wanted to be active in events and clubs. I wanted to be well-known, or social, but ... » Continue Reading
It’s worse to swallow slow. It goes down slow. It burns, and closes the throat. I cough, and I really can’t breathe, and it burns, it really burns. Sometimes I take it and wonder, how many times I can do it again until my throat closes for good. But I know how to open it back up, and I wish I didn’t. I get up too fast, and everything goes dizzy. Everything goes black, and I fall to the floor. But ... » Continue Reading
Fingers hold onto what could be a mannequin’s cinched waist. The London street holds a faint mystery, but the snow occupies all the time. A fog carries away the humming carols, and the birds sing a reckoning tune. People walk across ice, yet slip onto only their words. The boutique that sits on the mile, that lays the waist of the seemingly mannequin. The fingers seem never to fall from there, bey... » Continue Reading
i’m sorry i haven’t been online and writing, but if anyone wanted to know i’m currently writing my own novella!!! it’s not that serious lol but it is taking up most of my writing time, but i’ll try to write as much short stories as i can!! » Continue Reading
Nights like these, were they ever made to feel like cold glass bottles? Beads of sweat that surface of faint heat, the breeze of ghostly outdoor air, the sound of creeping and desperate knocks. This bed, which would rather be my hollow floor, traps me in this state that not even the passionate feeling of rest could hold. A frenzy that lets go, a parade that tramples. Poetry and memory, all held to... » Continue Reading