Darkromanticism Stories

•Dramatic and Gothic Prose Poem. •Theatrical Dramatic Monologue: If this were part of a play or a high-fantasy script.

"A tale about an individual who built five towers to protect himself from love." A person seeks to reach the heart, but first, they must overcome five towers. In the first, a guardian emerges from the darkness to warn them that their journey is futile. Through their words, they reveal their vision of love: a blend of narcissism, obsession, and idealization. Their love is intense, yet also marked by distrust and fear. Hidden within their speech lies a deep emotional wound. Registration code: 2503091065869 (Safe Creative)

i narrate to you, the story of my falling, crashing, then flying. my heart is in your hands. -gap t<3.

A battle of minds, generational mental warfare.

Short story.

A Short poem

"Chess doesn't always have to be competitive. It can be beautiful." Writing can be, too. Do it but don't do it for the adoration, for the recognition, the accolades. Do it even if you're the only one who will ever read it. Even if you think your writing is shit. Do it because you love it. You're only playing against yourself.

Self Casket Bells toll low in the weeping rain, shadows lean in the chapel's frame. Lilies choke on the scent of decay, whispers curl where the mourners pray. Eyes avert, yet all have seen, the trembling hands, the spaces between. Some doors open, and none return, some candles drip, yet never burn. In the hush, a truth takes shape, wrapped in silk no soul can escape. And in that silence, deep and vast, a farewell is given... that should never last. For #WITWcontest.

Short poem to release my thoughts.

One for love, one for heartbreak

Humanity has finally achieved immortality in the future. See what it means to live forever in the eyes of one of these humans that has gained what science longs for. Time is linear, and the past will ever grow distant. "My immortal state is most definitely not natural. My earliest memories tell me that I was once human. A being with flesh, heart, and soul. Now...I lack all those things and thus cease to be human." - The Mother of My Heart

A story of grief, hope, and the inside of a fractured mind dealing with the pain of loss. A journey through emotions in the form of poetry. You must never forget the why. Of why you should greet with wiles and smiles The ones to whom you'd say goodbye...

Danielle is sitting in her house one day reading a book when suddenly, she hears a loud shriek. No one was there. Nothing is as it seems, and maybe what Danielle thinks is real might not be real at all.

A short poem about interracial love

A short story I wrote for my English class that I figured I could share with everyone.

...В городе, где у каждого есть тайная порочная жизнь, исчезает известный человек, живущий под двумя именами. Частный сыщик Анри начинает расследование и шаг за шагом понимает: все улики ведут не к убийце, а к нему самому. Тайные балы с исчезновением гостей, психиатрическая лечебница, красивые и опасные женщины, карты йадд-таро, предсказывающие правду, и прошлое, которое отказывается умирать. Иногда самое страшное преступление - это личность, которую ты носишь внутри.

[Ongoing] A collection of my poems and short stories that aren't long enough to be their own post. (Most are subtlety religious)

Even if I never get the chance to know you, to love you. I'm still thinking of you. Prose one shot.

Can you love your corpse body when the flies choose you before people do? When moss crawls over your ribs like nature reclaiming what loneliness left behind? Can you still touch your ruined skin and whisper, you're pretty, without choking on the lie? Can you kiss the mouth that never smiled correctly enough for the world to keep? Because people love the public version. The romantic self. The soft voice. The carefully stitched personality perfumed to survive attention. They love the body before decay. Before truth. Before the rot starts speaking. But the real question is this: Can you love yourself when there is nothing beautiful left to perform? When your ugliness is exposed like organs split open under fluorescent light. When your darkness smells too human for anyone else to hold. Can you still call yourself worthy when even your reflection looks haunted by you? Or will you wait for strangers to approve the mask first before learning how to love the corpse underneath it? Humans spend their whole lives decorating coffins and calling it self-worth.