A Poetic series. what beholds the fate of the unseen? . . Step inside this world of Enchanted illusions to find out.

"My beautiful Puppet Boy and my beautiful Puppet Girl." A teenage boy and girl find themselves trapped in the lair of a crazy man obsessed with human puppetry. __________________ #1 in horror - 12/6/15 [featured - 12/30/15] IMPORTANT NOTICE - if you're reading this story on a site that is not www.wattpad.com then you could be at risk of a malware attack. Furthermore, please go to this link: www.wattpad.com/user/z0mbies, and report to me where you are reading this story. Thank you. WARNING: This story contains distressing material. Reader discretion advised. The characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

The difference between you and I was that I had the intention to love you, and you had the intention to destroy me. The sad part is, I let you. I wrote this for you ...

Heartache. Sorrow. Sadness. Inspiration. Hope. Reality.

jus cant shake u

open your eyes / you are more than just / a hitchhiker in this life. / you are in fact / an artist. / just pick up a pen / and you will see. /

"You'll do anything will you?" Keeley smirks, a mischievous glint lighting up her brown eyes. "I dare you, Jade Elsie Brooke, to break into Trystan Woods house and steal a pair of his boxers without him finding out." Jade Brooke was the dare devil who had never turned down a dare, no matter how bad it was. So when a simple game of truth of dare ends up flipping her life upside down in the form of a dare, she has no one to blame but herself. Trystan Woods was the boy out of reach for most, who stood at the top of the high school food chain. Everyone loves him, and he was the football team captain. Jade had never interacted with him, until the day she was dared to break into his house and steal his underwear. The only flaw in the plan? When he catches her in his room holding his boxers. || Humour #1 || // this story is in major need of editing and sucks quite badly so read at your own risk you have been warned \\

When I was little I wrote in the space under my sofa. Now I write on top of it. That's not poetic. I'm just too big to fit underneath anymore.

He was in a touring band, and I was a poet. Constantly far apart, but always keeping each other close. I don't remember how I managed to fuck things up, but I did, and he's gone. Again.

❝i've delicately chosen letters to form words and words to form sentences, each sentence a colorful paint stroke on the canvas of my mind.❞ [ #1 in poetry on 27/08/16 ]