"Yellow Paint" is a collection of my experiences with the turbulence of everyday teenage life in the form of poetry, random thoughts and rants. The name comes from a rumour involving Van Gogh, which says that he used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would make him happy. This made me realise that sometimes, we do things we think will help us be happy. There's always a chance that it might do more harm than good. But despite that, people still do these things because there might just be the slightest chance that it could make things a little better. In the end, everyone has their yellow paint. This collection is rife with teenage angst, emotion, drama, rants and possible trigger warnings. Proceed with caution and be prepared to feel things you didn't think your cold heart could ever feel.

A collection of poems carefully revealing the raw and untamed thoughts of a teenage boy's mind as he wanders cluelessly in search of himself amongst the rubble and pressures of his crazy life... You've entered his mind. All are welcome, but beware.

~A collection; scenes and poems~ \\Currently on hold\\

everything i ever wanted to say but couldn't.

I had lost her in the crowd of dancing molecules, the strobe lights and the humidity causing me to abandon my sense of direction at the bar. When I found her, she was pinned up against a chiseled man in the alley behind the club. She was whimpering, trying to get the older male off of her but she had little to no strength in comparison. The brick wall behind her highlighted her silhouette and her shirt was ripped and her cheek was cut, dripping blood onto the cement below her. Salty tears and crimson mixed together and I wanted to kill him. For ever thinking he was enough of a human being to touch her. She saw me and all I could see was fear in her eyes. I forget exactly what happened after that, but all I know is that when the blur of black from my eyes faded away, the guy was groaning on the ground, bruised and humiliated. My knuckles were cut open and my hands were covered in the man's red. She sat crying, slumped against the wall. I couldn't breathe. The man looked at me through his black eye and I murmured, "You can take my life away, beat me, hurt me. Fucking kill me, you disgusting prick. But, for the love of God, don't touch her. Or next time you'll be lying in your grave. Am I clear?" (Rated R for explicit sexual content, violence, and horrific events)