Short Stories For The Poetic Soul

-journal entry number one-

The walls bleed.
They scream.
What?
There are no walls.
Hm?
Never have been.

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This cold empty land I have learned to call 'home' ... no. It will never be my home, despite being permanently stuck here.

It's so dark... cold... and desolate.

And... lonely...

No one... not a single soul except myself resides here... it's enough to drive anyone of the deep end.

How far will I go before I reach the edge?

Hahaha... I suppose I will never know. For now, I'll keep writing these stories to pass the time... maybe someone will read them.

So alone...