Let's be honest. Some words are better left unsaid, these..these are my words that shouldn't have been said. Some of these I know are not perfect, but they are mine. My thoughts and pain I have been though, I will not apologize for speaking my truth. And I advise you don't either, it's what makes us who we are.

មិននឹកស្មានថាស្នេហាដែលធ្លាប់ធ្លាក់ដល់ចំណុចសូន្យស្រាប់តែអាចក្រោកឡើងវិញបានដោយសារតែកូនៗរបស់ពួកគេ...

MELANCHOLY | Melancholy drips from my fingertips. AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK ON AMAZON UNDER 'MELANCHOLIC MUSE' BY MAY GARNER This melancholy drips from my fingertips so slowly, you begin to forget I even exist. All of me, the hard parts of flesh you could never seem to love, drips down the drain. I am waiting for the day for your fingers to unscrew the pipes, dig through debris and mess, scrape your heart against the rust, just to find me, so we can go through it all over again. Here, in the pages I find myself, in the ink that writes against my flesh, I will whisper the sadness, the heartache, and the decaying for all of the unspoken. Perhaps under this layer of melancholy, the girl I once knew still exists.    First poetry collection in the series. Original poems based off real life experiences. #12 in poetry. Cover template made by @KaleidoGraphix on Canva. 𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 copyright © May Garner. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry for the dreamers, the broken, the hopeful, and the lost. This collection of poems unravels the emotions we all carry-love that stays, pain that lingers, dreams that fade, and the strength that remains. Read, feel, and find yourself in the lines. #1 in thought-provoking 1.3.25 #1 in deeppoetry 1.3.25 #2 in deeppoems 14.3.25 #4 in deepemotions 1.3.25 #3 in thoughtsandfeelings 14 .3.25 #4 in freeverse 22.3.25 #10in poems 24.3.25 #7 in poetry 26.3.25

Not really meant to have form, just where I kinda express myself. I love hearing people's interpretations on what they think the meaning behind each one is so please, feel free to tell me what you think.

This book holds poems woven from dreams, a tapestry of fantasy and obsession, daring to explore the depths of my emotions beyond mere definition. ˚❀　.　˚　　✦　　✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.　˚　　❀ .　˚✦　.  ✿ 　　˚　　 ❀　　*　˚　 　❀　✦　˚ . For me every soul has a simple story, one that unfolds directly. But when it comes to poems, they transcend the ordinary. They are profound, open to interpretation, deciphered through the unique lens of your own perception. ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Soo..shall we uncover the magic within these pages, together exploring the spectrum of emotions and the captivating landscapes of fantasy? Umm..I'll take it as yes (*≧∀≦*) N PLS DON'T MIND MY DESCRIPTION M REALLY NOT GOOD AT IT (￣▽￣) ◇Used Pictures are not mine ◇Source: pinterest ♡So picture CREDIT goes to the rightful Author*

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute, we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race." -Dead Poets Society I'm a 17 y/o (Started this when I was 15) just wanting to share some of my poetry with people other than my friends :] (Also feel free to comment any tips and how I could improve on my writing!)

Author:Empire Black Knight Alternative names:全民游戏：从丧尸末日开始挂机 Genre:Action, Adventure, Fantasy Source:Webnovel Status:Ongoing Rating: 8.6/10 from 3069 ratings Fang Heng was transmigrated to a parallel world and his soul was forced into the body of a man who had just committed suicide. Huh? What? Every human here was being forced to join a game? Those who refused would be killed? Wait? This suicide dude was a pro gamer? He had the highest S-rank talent sill, the Zombie Clone? Damn! The S-rank skill evolved! My zombie clones could auto hunt! [Your zombie army has crafted Wooden Axe x720 when you were offline. You have received 1921 experience points for the Basic Crafting skill.] [Your zombie army has chopped down 27,821 trees and gathered 128,973 pieces of wood while you were offline. You have received 2,171,921 experience points for the Basic Wood Chopping skill.] Just as the rest of the players were struggling to survive in the zombie apocalyptic game, Fang Heng's zombie clones were starting to clear every resource out of the forest. Hm... What an interesting game

we're all beggars here, clawing at each other's sepia-toned loneliness ... || caffeinated afterthoughts and lovers' vomit ||

Unheard feelings of a glass heart.