Elijah Clark

Leaving wattpad & unpublishing my books. Not reposting anywhere. 

Just a reminder:
          1. I'm not dead
          2. I publish when I feel like it so I don't stress myself out over writing
          3. I am writing even if I'm not publishing. I have over 30 unpublished books in draft.
          
          Please be nice and don't spam update or ask me if a book is dropped. If it truly is, you will see it in the description or an announcement

a token of kindness [ 18th july 2023 ] 
          
          insecure poems, confident aches; inspired decades yet everyday a death. stretching silences, concrete words; homes that melt and walls that echo. floating feet, rotten flowers; waves that pause in an ocean that seamlessly flows. 
          
          fluttering thoughts, fiddling feelings; coloured mouths and disappearing promises. hibernating lights and travelling darknesses; lingering lilacs and luminescent shadows. 
          
          minds of pearls, mouths of venom; do not lose by playing to their strengths. corridors of history, weaponsied love; transient nor malleable. fragile loneliness, screaming insecurities;  not every sunset has to be colourful. 
          
          sun of rain, thunders of frustration; mornings like amnesia, cloudless burdens. midday pride, repentance heavy; grief stricken victories, blackbird joys. mansions of footsteps, tears of dreams; we are all graves carrying the dying spark of life in us. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness [ 10th july 2023  ] 
          
          mountains and decorators, exhaustion and evil eye; surviving bones and careless finds. funeral floods and tumbling sorrows; forests and bridges of laughters and morals. feelings migrated, clouds and dresses; that which rains does not always bring about harvest. 
          
          clocks of manners, a road of residences; hearts like maples marked along fences. pictures of politeness, smiles like wounds; world a death of another, burial grounds like jasmine blooms. 
          
          mornings of questions, blurred evening attempts; youth of trial and error, life a honeycomb aged. dreams of wounds, dreams like a father's disappointment; storms like swaying birth, storms sometimes like corpses of discipline.  
          
          disassociated honour, ribbed filters; what binds is not glue, rather, mutual respect. eastern wind and crepuscular billows; howling books and silent words. the majesticness of months yet the solemnity of years; to the hearts that wriggle with pain, silence is delicate, thin ice-like elegance. 
           #adropofhumanity 

I don't know what to do. I want to update & write. I want to cook. I want to play games and read. I want to hang out with friends. I even have the time to now, so why am I so tired? It's like I could sleep forever if I wanted to. There's so much I could be doing, yet I'm just sitting here. Sleeping when I can & hiding in the stories I read when I'm awake. Maybe I just have trouble acknowledging reality? I have more books in draft than I do published & more published than I actually like. I think it's a little extreme to call it writers block now. 

Hey, I started an interactive story to try to get past writers block. Go over & check it out. Your stories await!

Good night. I'll check some time tomorrow about the post below. Feel free to pm me any responses for a quicker reply. 

Not related to my books, so please don't get your hopes up for an update just yet. I'm not dead though, just busy with work & school. 
          
          Man. I'm really sad rn. I've been trying for the past ten minutes to find a childhood friend of mine after I finally found my old yearbook & found their last name. (Ik it can sound kinda creepy, but I just really wanna apologize to them! ) on the day he became home-schooled (which I didn't know till 3 days later-)  we got into a fight because of something stupid I started! I found one thing about them (possibly) and I can't even tell if it's him. I just really wanna see them even if it's just to apologize over something stupid, and I've been hung up on this for years now! What should I do? 

a small token of kindness [ 20th february 2023  ] 
          
          blistering hope and disrupted forces, stomach of dirt and howling cresses; scraping blossoms and sunken springs. hollowed harvests, assaulted reaps; jeopardised desires and slivering skies. 
          
          mismatched woods and stolen petals; metaphorical gentleness and articulated coherence. dripping hearts, compendium ashes; ornate gale, weathered pages. 
          
          vintage eyes and handwritten libraries, fictional moon and escaped fantasies. inspiring nostalgia, doubtful guqin; poisonous inquiry, burial of heaven. vulnerability guarded, vindictive portraits; a monster of human needs, a devil of emotions. 
          
          brush-wood sprains and sinister autumns; stubborn walls and bittersweet burns. fluid memories, flamed nerves; familiar souvenirs,  a winter fued. a sadness of sharpness, bitter home in throat; caress the storms just as sadness has caressed tired norms. 
           #adropofhumanity

a small token of kindness [ 28th january 2023 ] 
          
          heart that loves waters of wrinkles, a grave that loves a man of death and bones;  years of cold and hours of a backyard mirrors. floods of decades, hormones of violence; peace of unfamiliarity, an autumn of heart ache. 
          
          a jam of blue as a fight of love, a poet centuries old lurking in the present; lemons and neighbours, peaches and lungs. sins sacred before mercy, broken palms and roads of birth; sunset embroidered with veins, years fossilised with ricochet pain. 
          
          frosted letters, casual accents; love of bruised knuckles, a sip of sacred venoms. fingers of declaration, windshield dust; a lump of liability, a suffocated drink of laughter. an island where a soul sinks, oceans where the bodies bath; a thread of silk that cuts like glass. 
          
          evaporated pressure, fiery torrents; soul frozen and waltz of wakefulness. meadow of dawn, a canopy of a pleaide; frothing yearns and rippling reasons. death so close, yet addressed as cold; not every flower can be sweet, not every good heart can have enough honey. 
           #adropofhumanity