Long Nights
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- Parts 1
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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.Complete
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A collection of different stories to read wth a warm cup of coco and a cozy blanket. Or, maybe not. Warning: Feels may be tugged.Complete
Small Short Stories
Just ideas and shit I come up with and cant be bothered to put it in a book.Complete
🌟Soul Words🌟
Where there are words; there is comfort. ●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°● It's exhausting, The dreams I have; Trying to make what's fantasy, Include no hardship. Into false of hopes of reality. ●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°● ☆In this universe, there are only few things that could last. One of mine is poetry.Complete
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.
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