This is a little boy, and his name is Chris. He is only 3, but he has a shocking story to tell. Please, if you see this, don't ignore. I found this on facebook, yes, but it must not be ignored. To Chris xXx

❝A book for comebacks.❞ WARNING// If easily offended please do not read this book as you might be upset by some of the content.

Poetry from the worst day of my life.

writings that are full of delusions... full of twist... full of emotions... Dark and indeed in need of deeper understanding... Please read in full to fully understand my POETRY STORY.... Also inserted are my old poems... All Rights Reserved ** Mysterious Aries** Comment or Vote pls...

A COLLECTION OF EMOTIONS WRITTEN IN A POETRY.... All rights reserved... Mysterious Aries... VOTE, COMMENT, SHARE..... Thanks....

Stereotypes. I hate them. On my first day at my new school, a girl in a blue and white cheerleader's uniform told me I 'looked like a cheerleader' and asked me to come to tryouts. I almost decked her. Blonde hair and blue eyes do not a cheerleader make. Cheerleaders can be bitchy and mean but they can also act all happy and excited and they can drool and swoon over Finn Wallace – the hands-down hottest guy in school – like there's no tomorrow. Me? Well, I'm just bitchy and mean. So someone please tell me why Finn Wallace is suddenly chasing after me? *This is NOT a Bridgit Mendler fan fiction* Copyright © 2013 CrayonChomper

*Disclaimer* This story was written in 2012 when I was 15 years old. It is obviously not perfect. The guys are based on the ages they were in 2012. The opinions expressed in this story are no longer my own, and I apologize if anyone is offended. One day I may go back and edit this. *End Disclaimer* Nearly 18 year old McKenzie Cook is probably not your average "emo" girl. She's had a rough life. She faces a small case of anorexia. She lives with her older brother. Her parents are dead. But will her luck change when her idols, the Black Veil Brides, show up on her doorstep?

Bang! Bang! My tired knees buckle and slam together as I roll down the steep, narrow ramp like thunder as clumsily as a frail old woman. Sweat streams down my hot forehead in trickles of sticky, bitter sweet water. The droplets gather at the beginning of my hairline like an army on the border of enemy territory. This maze of blackened, battered walls is illuminated by the soft multi-coloured glow of the futuristic weaponry we’ve been armed with. It’s been barely twenty minutes since I’ve been thrown into battle like a rabbit into the lion’s den. I’ve managed to trigger, kick and claw my way through like a rabid dog roaming the sober streets. I’m the last of the survivors. I lick my lips in anticipation like a raindeer high on candy canes. My adrenaline runs wild like a boar streaking through the forest. The outline of a tall male with dark hair, dark eyes and tanned skin engenders itself to my gaze. I aim, the slim barrel of the black gun aligns with my focused eye. Bang!