Letters untethered
- LECTURAS 573
- Votos 75
- Partes 6
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Última publicación jue, feb 11, 2016
These are all pieces I've had at least genuine anger, distraught, happiness, and or devious feelings while conducting. Some are more serious, some are for fun, some will make you hate me, and others feel sympathy. I hope at least one thing I say resonates or touches you all. Please- explore the little journal in my little head. Feedback is what it's all about. Thank you.
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Tales of the Mind
Collection of short storiesConcluida
Short Stories/Orginal
These are all stories I came up with, some are finished and some aren't. I may complete some later on, maybe. You may notice my writing has more description than plot, I do that on purpose to give a poetry yet still story effect on my writing. I'm open to constructive criticism but if you are cursing at me and informally speaking then I'm not going to listen to you, thank you for reading my description! (: PS; most of these are driven by individual feelings yet exaggerated (that's where the vibe of poetry comes in)
Dream Journal #2
The second part to my dream journal. Capturing the dreams I have Trigger warning; some dreams are graphic, traumatic or mature. *none of these are real life scenarios, these are all my real dreams*
Dear Journal...
Just an online journal of my personal thoughts . No, I am not suicidal. No, I am not depressed. Just introverted, and I trap feelings in more than I'm supposed to .. So I let them out here.Concluida
Poems
Poetry of mine. These all range from when i was a kid to now so some of them kind of suck. Some of these may be triggering to some people, but I try to put a warning at the beginning of each one. Please enjoy and please don't steal my poetry. :)Concluida
Bedroom Whispers
The bedroom holds sacred territory for me. The bed, its altar. One upon which I've offered sacrifices, so many to count and recall. One upon which I currently lay as I once more pay my dues, in taps and clicks. I miss the days when the gods were content with the strokes and curves of the fluid dispenser. They seemed to have joined the fast-lane train, and thus demand new meals. While I lay down and hit the keys with a mystic rhythmic sway, I hear the sounds as they hit my ears. No. They're not forceful. Not now, at least. Like music from the slow strumming of a guitar, these sounds bring messages. And memories. And musings. And a medley, sometimes. And so it is, that I'm made to scribe. For when gods speak, their words are immortal. Oh. Wait. They're just thoughts. I thought as much.Concluida
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