Discussion Creative Writing Megathread

[lilichka]

Terror. Ask me to describe the feeling of terror, and I can only reply 'ecstatic'. Fervour. Justice. Spirit. Words that give meaning to terror, the order of the day.

Terror. Terror. The fear inflicted upon man by another man. I do not fear terror, on the contrary, I feel drawn towards it. Whether it be white, red, great, or reigning, terror inspires within me an urge to be drowned by the roaring tides of ardor.

Terror. Terror. Terror. Terrorism, terrorist, terrorizer. What do these words mean? Why do they decry it? Rally against it? How pitiful these men be, to not see the unnerving beauty of terror!

Terror. Terror. Terror. Terror. I walked up the stage and met my date for tonight; a tall woman with a sharp stare. I laid my head down on her lap, to the cheering of the crowd below us. I closed my eyes, and calmly awaited her loving touch on my nape. I was her greatest love, yet her latest victim.

Terror. Terror. Terror. Terror. Terror. Off with our heads!

 

[hybridtheory]

Sharing my writing

//

A girl's voice cries out, but it remains trapped within her own confines, unheard by the world outside. It unleashes a torrent of feelings within her secluded haven.

With each new day, she faces the same old wounds and the intrusive thoughts that shake her sense of calm.

She continues to escape, feeling adrift and unable to find anything reliable.

She guards herself against the inescapable truth, fearing the journey toward forgiveness, when deep down, all she truly desires is the solace of understanding that her burdens were never hers to carry alone.

A girl prioritizes her peace for such a long time that now, any sound beyond a mere whisper can make her feel jarring. She has established a refuge deep within herself.

She takes steps forward, yet also retraces her path—not to dwell in the past, but to integrate that part of herself into the now. The version of herself that was limited by a past that sought to disrupt her future now travels alongside her.

Her past self walks beside her present self, not to hinder her progress, but to observe the beautiful transformation into the person she was destined to become.

Although she is uncertain about her future identity, she will learn to embrace gratitude during her journey, no matter how fiercely the hurt tries to lead her astray.

—kels

 

[Emerita]

I felt the Graveyard of Myself,
And grief, engraved my Name.
The grounds left behind—
A barren of my Brain—

My body was breathless
But a Beating, still abide.
And my Soul, buried beneath—
The bones, supine where they lied.

Nerves root in the Underground;
Marked crosses never meet.
Moss decays upon my lips—
The living Haunted— obliged, I did not speak.

My mind, akin to a closed casket—
Though, I skinned myself for Hope;
Only the tomb touched me undressed.
It was the Earth— and I alone.

(A poem I wrote two years after my friend died, may he rest in peace )

 

[WaistedPotential]

to be edited....
Once a mountain, weathered by rain.
Reduced to the sand, along the bay.
Then melted into something beautiful.

Your poem is so beautiful. It reminds me of one of my own I wrote a few years ago. I've graffitied it in a few random places before, so maybe it inspired someone. it goes like this.

thoughts fall like sheets of rain

each drop taking its pebble

no one hears the quiet erosion

or sees the hill was once a mountain.

 

[Life_and_Death]

Your poem is so beautiful

thank you
your comment came at just the right time too. just last night i was feeling like i cant write and was unsure if i ever could

thoughts fall like sheets of rain

each drop taking its pebble

no one hears the quiet erosion

or sees the hill was once a mountain.

i love your poem too. its amazing how so few words can sometimes say so much

 

[Oublivien]

A fine line between cutting out all emotions,
And letting them all run free
Rampant and uncontrolled
Both sides representing a hell,
One, bleak cold and lifeless
The other set aflame, screams pain and disorder

 

[intintint]

schizo

"Who am I but I am me?"
Poor me said, quite valiantly.
Yes, you are, but are you me?
You, i'm not, I disagree.
"Why can't you be? Don't you want to?
Look at yourself, what have done you?"
I hate what I see, so torn.
You, me, should've been unborn

You might be me, but I will not
Embrace what's left, what's gone to rot.
I see the mess, the flawed design,
A life undone, a tangled mind.
"How can you be so cruel, so cold?
Look at me, I am your soul
Can we not mend, can we not heal?
Let's be two, can't we just feel?"








stop
Screams all night, a shriek, a squeal
My eyes won't shut, my heart won't heal

My brain yells "the house is on fire",
A little quiet is my only desire
But my brain keeps yelling, " house on fire!"
Oh, please be quiet, no need for dire

"But what if it is? What if it was?
What if they hate? What if it does?
What if you do? What if you did?
But you won't, though would you bid?

They hate you, and they hate you
And you hate you, so they hate you
And you do wrong, and go so blue
So they hate you, can't you go through? "

Another night, the noise is there
My eyes wide open, they only stare
Red on my bed is all i need
A price for quiet, quite small indeed

 

[notgonnamakeit]

feeling so stuck
nowhere to run
run out of luck
hand me my gun

'things will get better'
no they will not
so i'll write my letter
then let off my shot

 

[SuicidalCurryBoy]

Short story about my oneitis.

Metempsychosis/Transmigration

There was no ‘patient 0’ when the dead started being reborn. They popped up like a plague across the planet, with no rhyme or reason, independent of natural or unnatural boundaries. A Saracen who s…

mikhailmarlowe.wordpress.com

 

[BloomingAzaleas]

Down the snowy path
Blows gentle whispers of death
Guiding the lost souls

 

[56842]

echo of me:

I can feel my clock spinning
out of control, glitching
ephemeral time traveler
cursed by the moon
by inordinance, watch
strikes, come now, the flux
one evening a culprit
sent to bring a cataclysm
to me

come, tell me your name
I dread the waiting
expecting a surety I see
in the reflection
foggy rippling and foreign
a landscape yet to
be painted into earth's history
but those bones I know
I see I know I feel
the ache that was carved
on me

Is it the world that changed
or do I see from a different plane?
High on the world's spine
wonders only bloom at night
From this peak,
see me see free see
the veins of reality crack
in the wake of the shake
Atop a fault set in wait to
rend my world apart I sit awaiting,
a part of the change
tectonic turbulence, vibrating violence
amongst, amidst, amok,
in me

From the shelf in the sky above life
where Chronos's keeps time
I see the river of change
in this mirror of mine,
bubbling over into rapid
headed for the cliff
at the end of nothing
absence of me, there
I see nothing
but still the ache lays waiting
and I know it, as the echo
of me

 

[FinalDestiny]

Sorry, I'm the kind of loser who need to take other people's words to express myself. I hope Lawliet doesn't mind his moving poetry being my muse tonight.

Who said that,
I wasn't
Rotten from the start.
Time passes, roses bloom,
And my thoughts are,
Kinda dark.
Friends speak, let em see,
Draw the curtains,
Take a stand.
Who said that,
I wasn't rotten from the start.

I used to try to find myself,
But honestly,
That's a fantasy.
Eggs yolk, mind's broke,
Time to cue the peak insanity.
Got my heart cut, stripped,
By my friends and family.
Things change, people die,
Yeah, I let em see.
Who said that,
I wasn't rotten from the start.

i guess i will go first i write a lot of sad poetry.

"WILT"
our friendship, wilting
but who says it ever bloomed
rotten from the start

"HEARTLESS"
cut my heart into little strips,
hang them on my wall
show my friends and family
that i've got one, after all

and the one in my signature:

"LIVING DEAD"
most people die
when they're only teenagers,
but aren't even buried
'til they're past seventy-five

 

[SpelingNotsee666]

You Love to Give

​

Chameleon in red lipstick.
Chameleon with ball mask on.
Everyone to everything.
Every shade in faded color.
Door won't close.
Too many skeletons.
Superimposed strength.
Underneath gelatin.
Being everything is how you live.
Blinds are drawn, you love to give.
The back of your hand.
The small skeleton's resting places.
Tiny mouths, your lips.
Veins, fire and gin.
Kinky brutality loves its audience.
Never questioned yourself until you were revealed.
In the dark, you loved to steal.
Six faces for six places.
Hard things. Sad faces.
It is how you live.
You love to give.
Pain to the ribs.
A twist to the wrist.
Small feet.
Lots of traffic.
Consciences hurt the most when dying.
Someday, we all will be forced to remember.
Our feeling slipping away.
Our fingertips touching decay.
All our lives we were givers.
All our lives we were different.
Nobody knew it.
But we knew ourselves.
It was how we lived.
We loved to give.
Our screaming voices.
Bleeding ears.
Shriveled egos.
Many tears.
We were big until the roosters made us small.
We took it all until the darkness finally made us crawl.
We loved to give.

 

[BloomingAzaleas]

O' scared bird with wings of light
When will you let yourself take flight?
When you can shine instead you flee
Hiding away from the world to see

You build yourself a nest made of concrete walls
So that no one could come and hear your calls
And now you cry, trapped in your own cage
Letting yourself be overcome with age

Now every part of you is yearning to be free
To shine once more and leave this tree
O' helpless bird, your cage is where you stand
But when will you see the key was always in your hand?

 

[galaxid]

that's so cool! post it :D

prose excerpt from something i wrote the other night:

"The sounding off of drunken cormogenies all thumping bottles of Tonk, singing Gaulish songs about battered Imperialists and their putschist brethren, all while the stench and sopor of night crept into their hearts and minds and slowly, assuredly, they would be careening private lies to children on chalk-covered driveways and under moth-eaten lamps, or returning to childhood corridors, running in view of doting mothers sick to the endless clambering of athletic feet up the stairs, to the aging camphor of occupants back from days out on the bridge, spitting at dinghies, snapping furtive passersby through bleeding gums."

I love this!!!!

 

[hhtroc]

I wrote a couple poems, english is not my native language so I guess the rhymes could be better but whatever, I can share I guess, If not here then where lol:


A different time ago, into a world that was so bright/
the sapling broke out of the ground and for the first time saw the light/
and the sunlight shone down on it and kept it safe and warm, every rain felt like refreshment, like an adventure every storm/
And as the tree grew taller, and the first leaves started to show, it started noticing the smells of mud and the coldness of the snow/
and the sunshine became blinding and the storm so suffocating, all the termites that formed tunnels and the birds that made their home/
And the tree it kept on growing, despite whatever pain may be, for it just always thought that's what it's like to be a tree/
And so the seasons came and went and the tree stood tall and strong, and everyone who came across it never noticed something wrong/
until one night the branches fell, with an ear deafening roar/
the tree collapsed back to the ground for it was rotten to the core.

 

[BloomingAzaleas]

A poem written in Chinese Qijue

Characters:

小鸟高窝寂寞唂
飞奔泰树母飞出
当心险蛇桑枝等
跳跃天空最后呼

Pinyin:
Xiǎo niǎo gāo wō jì mò gū
Fēi bēn tài shù mǔ fēi chū
Dāng xīn xiǎn shé sāng zhī děng
Tiào yuè tiān kōng zuì hòu hū

English conversion (adjusted for meter):

Small bird tall nest soft lone cries
Dash quick safe tree mom bird flies
Watch out snake threat tree branch waits
Big leap blue sky one last sigh

 

[Michi_Violeta]

Two poems I wrote originally in Spanish, translated in a rush into English, would like to hear your thoughts on them.

Free ≠ Libre
​

Te quieren
en pedacitos y en
empaque al vacío,
en stock, envío incluido,
en un anaquel, en una vitrina,
a domicilio para mayor comodidad:
en treinta minutos (o menos).

Te desean
fácil, sin compromiso.
Una probadita de cortesía,
un pague dos y lleve tres,
un si te he visto no recuerdo.
Quieren chorizo, quieren chuleta,
y quieren pagar con tarjeta.

¿Te aman?
Como a un cigarrillo de treinta centímetros
o una pantalla de sesenta y nueve pulgadas.

Te promocionan,
te consumen,
te desangran.
Dicen que eres libre
cuando la etiqueta en
tu corazón dice gratis.

Free = Worthless​

They care about you
in chunks and
vacuum-packed,
in stock, shipping included,
on a shelf, on display,
delivery available for your comfort:
thirty minutes (or less).

They want you
easy, no commitment.
A trial sample,
take three and pay two;
easy come, easy go.
They want breasts, chops,
and want to pay with card.

They love you?
Like a thirty centimeters cigarette
or a sixty-nine inch screen.

They advertise you,
consume you,
bleed you dry.
They say you're free
when the sticker on your
heart says worthless.

Besitos de Zopiclona​

Cada mañana seguro pensamos cosas diferentes,
tú yo.
Caminas egoísta por llanuras más verdes
mientras yo maldigo abrir otra vez los ojos.

Tus besos de noche los recibe ahora un imbécil.
Mis labios ya no sienten otros que me reconozcan
y den sentido a tanto frío, dolor, tanto esfuerzo
ahora solo rozan un polvillo blanco comprimido.

Ya no duermes a mi lado, espalda con espalda,
haciendo que la noche se sienta hermosa
y la vida segura.

Duermo cuando le da la gana a un sedante.
Duermo con una libra de veneno bajo el colchón
donde antes descansábamos enamorados

Besitos de esperanza guardan mis recuerdos,
besitos de zopiclona para esta noche.

Zopiclone Kisses​

We surely think very different things every morning,
you and I.
You walk selfish on greener grass,
I curse having again to open my eyes.

Your kisses at night are now for an idiot.
My lips no longer feel others that recognize me
and make sense of so much cold, pain, effort,
they only brush compressed white powder.

You no longer sleep by my side, back to back,
making nights feel beautiful
and life feel safe.

I sleep whenever a sedative says so
I sleep with a pound of poison under the mattress
on which we used to rest together in love.

Hopeful kisses in my memories,
Zopiclone kisses for me tonight.

 

[BlueLock]

I wrote fanfiction (I'm cringe but free) about a character named Rin Itoshi from the anime/manga Blue Lock struggling with suicidal thoughts.

Sometimes Rin got into moods like this during the off season, where his anger would simmer out and all that was left was a sense of complete and total emptiness.
He'd sleep in, skip meals, mope around the house for a bit. During the day he wouldn't think of anything in particular, but at night he'd be kept up by racing thoughts. Sometimes he thought about killing himself during these episodes. Sometimes he'd buy a rope, just in case.

They usually didn't last long, he'd bounce back to his 'normal' in a few days. He'd wake up feeling some spark of motivation. Shower, clean up the house, cook a meal, and toss the rope in the trash. It was just another routine of his.

He never reached out during times like this, he had no desire to and if he did… Well there wasn't anyone worth reaching out to, he reasoned. He wasn't close to any of his teammates and had no close friends. 'There's no reason to trouble Mom or Dad while I'm overseas, and Sae… fuck Sae fuck everything about him he doesn't deserve to know anything about me.'

'Would the bastard even care? Would Nii-chan be worried about me?'

A younger Rin wouldn't even worry about these things, 'of course he loves us! He's always looking out for us and he's always taking care of us and getting us ice cream and cleaning up our messes and and and AND–'

Rin at 20 has no clue what his brother thinks of him, besides the obvious; where soccer's concerned he's still lukewarm, disgusting, and above all a fucking disappointment. But outside of the sport he's devoted his whole being to–who knows, who the hell knows what goes through his brother's head. If there is anyone who does it's certainly not Rin.

Rin thought he knew once, but that was a long time ago. Now Sae's someone entirely new, and he supposes, 'I am too.' They've both changed. When that happened Rin couldn't say, he could point to that winter's night as the breaking point but that doesn't feel right, it's too easy to say if things went down differently that night everything would be okay.

A bond as strong as theirs shouldn't have been broken after one night, one fight. Something must've been brewing for a while. Over the years Rin has thought of all the possible reasons why Sae left him, 'he never loved me, he only wanted a training partner out of me, now that he found someone better he's discarded me,' is what he thought of at first then, 'he's testing me even now he's only pretending to hate me so I can grow and reach his standards,' and after he had left blue lock and turned his anger towards the world inwards it turned into, 'he was just upset that night, I was being childish I should've just accepted his new dream and none of this would've happened.' Nowadays he thinks the answer is simpler.

He's cycled through many explanations, driven himself crazy over many late nights just trying to understand the brother who wants nothing to do with him. But now he's settled on this; he got bored.

Of him, his soccer, their country, their bond. Of everything to do with Rin.

Rin sucks in a breath and looks down at his lap, he hadn't even realized his hands were shaking till now. He took in a deep breath and held it till he felt dizzy. He let out a shaky breath, and repeated this until he calmed down. He got up to get a glass of water and as he did he banished all thoughts of Sae from his mind.
It's better to not think about these kinds of things, especially not now. Rin already feels like he's teetering the edge, and trying to solve the eternal mystery of his brother would surely push him off it.

 

[cemeteryismyhome]

Scratches

When I tire of holding it back, I set it free. Such delicious pain when its large paws slice me from inside. I bleed, it scratches away a tiny bit of me. Sometimes it tears off larger chunk, devoured in sweet victory. It's a little stronger and I'm a little weaker, a little less. It will win. It inevitably will win. I don't care. I crave the pain, the loss, the death it brings. From an awkward something to an untortured nothing. It will win. I will lose. I don't mind. It feels so good to bleed, to shudder in pain so powerful, to slowly die a little at a time. To the monster within, I am strange. I welcome it, I love its hatred of me, its unstoppable destruction of me. It doesn't care and neither do I. I bleed, I hurt beyond pain, every time there's a little less of me, and that's ok.

 

[galaxid]

I wrote fanfiction (I'm cringe but free) about a character named Rin Itoshi from the anime/manga Blue Lock struggling with suicidal thoughts.

Sometimes Rin got into moods like this during the off season, where his anger would simmer out and all that was left was a sense of complete and total emptiness.
He'd sleep in, skip meals, mope around the house for a bit. During the day he wouldn't think of anything in particular, but at night he'd be kept up by racing thoughts. Sometimes he thought about killing himself during these episodes. Sometimes he'd buy a rope, just in case.

They usually didn't last long, he'd bounce back to his 'normal' in a few days. He'd wake up feeling some spark of motivation. Shower, clean up the house, cook a meal, and toss the rope in the trash. It was just another routine of his.

He never reached out during times like this, he had no desire to and if he did… Well there wasn't anyone worth reaching out to, he reasoned. He wasn't close to any of his teammates and had no close friends. 'There's no reason to trouble Mom or Dad while I'm overseas, and Sae… fuck Sae fuck everything about him he doesn't deserve to know anything about me.'

'Would the bastard even care? Would Nii-chan be worried about me?'

A younger Rin wouldn't even worry about these things, 'of course he loves us! He's always looking out for us and he's always taking care of us and getting us ice cream and cleaning up our messes and and and AND–'

Rin at 20 has no clue what his brother thinks of him, besides the obvious; where soccer's concerned he's still lukewarm, disgusting, and above all a fucking disappointment. But outside of the sport he's devoted his whole being to–who knows, who the hell knows what goes through his brother's head. If there is anyone who does it's certainly not Rin.

Rin thought he knew once, but that was a long time ago. Now Sae's someone entirely new, and he supposes, 'I am too.' They've both changed. When that happened Rin couldn't say, he could point to that winter's night as the breaking point but that doesn't feel right, it's too easy to say if things went down differently that night everything would be okay.

A bond as strong as theirs shouldn't have been broken after one night, one fight. Something must've been brewing for a while. Over the years Rin has thought of all the possible reasons why Sae left him, 'he never loved me, he only wanted a training partner out of me, now that he found someone better he's discarded me,' is what he thought of at first then, 'he's testing me even now he's only pretending to hate me so I can grow and reach his standards,' and after he had left blue lock and turned his anger towards the world inwards it turned into, 'he was just upset that night, I was being childish I should've just accepted his new dream and none of this would've happened.' Nowadays he thinks the answer is simpler.

He's cycled through many explanations, driven himself crazy over many late nights just trying to understand the brother who wants nothing to do with him. But now he's settled on this; he got bored.

Of him, his soccer, their country, their bond. Of everything to do with Rin.

Rin sucks in a breath and looks down at his lap, he hadn't even realized his hands were shaking till now. He took in a deep breath and held it till he felt dizzy. He let out a shaky breath, and repeated this until he calmed down. He got up to get a glass of water and as he did he banished all thoughts of Sae from his mind.
It's better to not think about these kinds of things, especially not now. Rin already feels like he's teetering the edge, and trying to solve the eternal mystery of his brother would surely push him off it.

I really like this!! I really love fanfiction and though I don't know the anime or anything, I think you write very well.

 

[deus_ex_machina]

my blood is rampant in chemicals.
chemicals to save my life, yet all they do is hurt me.
corrupted masses of cells, feeding itself with my blood.
they try to get rid of it, injecting poison into me, but all it does is harm me.
my body isnt mine, i share it with a parasite.
a parasite my own body created.

 

[quietbird]

I wrote fanfiction (I'm cringe but free) about a character named Rin Itoshi from the anime/manga Blue Lock struggling with suicidal thoughts.

Sometimes Rin got into moods like this during the off season, where his anger would simmer out and all that was left was a sense of complete and total emptiness.
He'd sleep in, skip meals, mope around the house for a bit. During the day he wouldn't think of anything in particular, but at night he'd be kept up by racing thoughts. Sometimes he thought about killing himself during these episodes. Sometimes he'd buy a rope, just in case.

They usually didn't last long, he'd bounce back to his 'normal' in a few days. He'd wake up feeling some spark of motivation. Shower, clean up the house, cook a meal, and toss the rope in the trash. It was just another routine of his.

He never reached out during times like this, he had no desire to and if he did… Well there wasn't anyone worth reaching out to, he reasoned. He wasn't close to any of his teammates and had no close friends. 'There's no reason to trouble Mom or Dad while I'm overseas, and Sae… fuck Sae fuck everything about him he doesn't deserve to know anything about me.'

'Would the bastard even care? Would Nii-chan be worried about me?'

A younger Rin wouldn't even worry about these things, 'of course he loves us! He's always looking out for us and he's always taking care of us and getting us ice cream and cleaning up our messes and and and AND–'

Rin at 20 has no clue what his brother thinks of him, besides the obvious; where soccer's concerned he's still lukewarm, disgusting, and above all a fucking disappointment. But outside of the sport he's devoted his whole being to–who knows, who the hell knows what goes through his brother's head. If there is anyone who does it's certainly not Rin.

Rin thought he knew once, but that was a long time ago. Now Sae's someone entirely new, and he supposes, 'I am too.' They've both changed. When that happened Rin couldn't say, he could point to that winter's night as the breaking point but that doesn't feel right, it's too easy to say if things went down differently that night everything would be okay.

A bond as strong as theirs shouldn't have been broken after one night, one fight. Something must've been brewing for a while. Over the years Rin has thought of all the possible reasons why Sae left him, 'he never loved me, he only wanted a training partner out of me, now that he found someone better he's discarded me,' is what he thought of at first then, 'he's testing me even now he's only pretending to hate me so I can grow and reach his standards,' and after he had left blue lock and turned his anger towards the world inwards it turned into, 'he was just upset that night, I was being childish I should've just accepted his new dream and none of this would've happened.' Nowadays he thinks the answer is simpler.

He's cycled through many explanations, driven himself crazy over many late nights just trying to understand the brother who wants nothing to do with him. But now he's settled on this; he got bored.

Of him, his soccer, their country, their bond. Of everything to do with Rin.

Rin sucks in a breath and looks down at his lap, he hadn't even realized his hands were shaking till now. He took in a deep breath and held it till he felt dizzy. He let out a shaky breath, and repeated this until he calmed down. He got up to get a glass of water and as he did he banished all thoughts of Sae from his mind.
It's better to not think about these kinds of things, especially not now. Rin already feels like he's teetering the edge, and trying to solve the eternal mystery of his brother would surely push him off it.

This was really good. You're a talented writer.

Two poems I wrote originally in Spanish, translated in a rush into English, would like to hear your thoughts on them.

Free ≠ Libre
​

Te quieren
en pedacitos y en
empaque al vacío,
en stock, envío incluido,
en un anaquel, en una vitrina,
a domicilio para mayor comodidad:
en treinta minutos (o menos).

Te desean
fácil, sin compromiso.
Una probadita de cortesía,
un pague dos y lleve tres,
un si te he visto no recuerdo.
Quieren chorizo, quieren chuleta,
y quieren pagar con tarjeta.

¿Te aman?
Como a un cigarrillo de treinta centímetros
o una pantalla de sesenta y nueve pulgadas.

Te promocionan,
te consumen,
te desangran.
Dicen que eres libre
cuando la etiqueta en
tu corazón dice gratis.

Free = Worthless​

They care about you
in chunks and
vacuum-packed,
in stock, shipping included,
on a shelf, on display,
delivery available for your comfort:
thirty minutes (or less).

They want you
easy, no commitment.
A trial sample,
take three and pay two;
easy come, easy go.
They want breasts, chops,
and want to pay with card.

They love you?
Like a thirty centimeters cigarette
or a sixty-nine inch screen.

They advertise you,
consume you,
bleed you dry.
They say you're free
when the sticker on your
heart says worthless.

Besitos de Zopiclona​

Cada mañana seguro pensamos cosas diferentes,
tú yo.
Caminas egoísta por llanuras más verdes
mientras yo maldigo abrir otra vez los ojos.

Tus besos de noche los recibe ahora un imbécil.
Mis labios ya no sienten otros que me reconozcan
y den sentido a tanto frío, dolor, tanto esfuerzo
ahora solo rozan un polvillo blanco comprimido.

Ya no duermes a mi lado, espalda con espalda,
haciendo que la noche se sienta hermosa
y la vida segura.

Duermo cuando le da la gana a un sedante.
Duermo con una libra de veneno bajo el colchón
donde antes descansábamos enamorados

Besitos de esperanza guardan mis recuerdos,
besitos de zopiclona para esta noche.

Zopiclone Kisses​

We surely think very different things every morning,
you and I.
You walk selfish on greener grass,
I curse having again to open my eyes.

Your kisses at night are now for an idiot.
My lips no longer feel others that recognize me
and make sense of so much cold, pain, effort,
they only brush compressed white powder.

You no longer sleep by my side, back to back,
making nights feel beautiful
and life feel safe.

I sleep whenever a sedative says so
I sleep with a pound of poison under the mattress
on which we used to rest together in love.

Hopeful kisses in my memories,
Zopiclone kisses for me tonight.

Wow. I love how deep this is. The first really speaks to the artificial greed that exists by companies and businesses. Those are the ways people are viewed. The second poem is so devastating and delicate. You're a lovely poet.

 

[ForeverCaHa]

An Exchange

You'll whisper timid in the night why you need escape.
You'll run your fingers up my thighs, lay kisses on my nape.
I'll tell you softly who it is I seek but can't replace.
I'll cut the lights, close tight my eyes, perhaps I'll see his face.

We understand our jaded hearts cannot be cured by this,
We understand there is no love within our passioned kiss.
I writhe and squirm yet choke my cries, and sink into my shame.
I bite my tongue, grip hard the sheets, for fear I call his name.

Perhaps you see my fragile frame and want to show your power.
Perhaps outside this darkened room you're weak, you flinch, you cower.
So just as I can take from you and let my darkness cease,
So too do you now stand to gain your violent release.

Now as you loveless take me, make me quiver, give belief
That you, I pray, will be the one to cure me of my grief.
But as you grunt and growl and groan and grope and force and sweat,
I come to know I can't let go. You cannot cure me yet.

Please drag me from my memory upon this sodden bed.
With every thrust I hush his anguished wails within my head.
Bind me to the present, for I can't survive the past.
Just make me hurt, and make me numb. Cruel stranger, make it fast.

As you make your final blow, your nails clawing skin,
A muffled cry escapes my lips, I come to see my sin.
Our bodies wet and mangled; you are part of me no more.
Is this the life I chose for me? The lonely, haunted whore?

Now all has ended. Next to me you lay without a sound.
I briefly wonder what you've lost, and with me was it found?
A fleeting touch, an unsaid "stay" - but no, return to pain.
In our longing glance we know we shall not meet again.

Another time, another world, perhaps you asked to stay;
Perhaps we sat as lovers, not as predator and prey.
But who is who, and who gained what, I'll question not this line.
Still, I hope you found your peace. Tonight, I've not found mine.

 

[BlueLock]

I really like this!! I really love fanfiction and though I don't know the anime or anything, I think you write very well.

This means the world to me thank you :*)

 

[Murasa]

Hello everyone, I am here to ask for advice. I've been writing scripts, posts and other explanatory material about things I like for quite a while now. But since a few years ago I started to write in a more "theatrical" way, writing short stories that serve as intros, entries about fantasy beings that pretend to be written in-universe. I like to take refuge in these worlds, it distracts my mind and allows me to explore them.

Lately I've been having a hard time to keep my focus, putting my thoughts into words and coming up with a result that I'm happy with. When I sit down I get completely blocked, I know what I want to write, in my mind are the concrete points, I have a general idea of what and how I want to expose it, but it is difficult for me to express it, to put it in a logical sequence of sentences. Is there any kind of practice or exercise that can help me to overcome this kind of problems?

 

[galaxid]

Hello everyone, I am here to ask for advice. I've been writing scripts, posts and other explanatory material about things I like for quite a while now. But since a few years ago I started to write in a more "theatrical" way, writing short stories that serve as intros, entries about fantasy beings that pretend to be written in-universe. I like to take refuge in these worlds, it distracts my mind and allows me to explore them.

Lately I've been having a hard time to keep my focus, putting my thoughts into words and coming up with a result that I'm happy with. When I sit down I get completely blocked, I know what I want to write, in my mind are the concrete points, I have a general idea of what and how I want to expose it, but it is difficult for me to express it, to put it in a logical sequence of sentences. Is there any kind of practice or exercise that can help me to overcome this kind of problems?

Writing sprints!!! Set yourself 15 minute timers or something to that effect and write as many words as you can. The idea is that you keep writing no matter how badly you feel about what you've written. I come back to the ones I've written and find some nuggets of wisdom sometimes.

You can also write a smaller idea, a shorter story, or maybe something more like a vignette. Short stories constrain the options you have, so you can focus on the stuff that's most important, and editing it after the fact is a lot easier because its a smaller piece of work.

Most importantly, write anything. If you have an idea and you stop enjoying the idea, swap to something else. You're not trying to make masterworks rn, you're just trying to get the ideas out. And as long as you hold on to what you've written, you can come back to it later. Or you could never look at it again! Whatever works. But follow the muse, so to speak. That helps me.

 

[Murasa]

Writing sprints!!! Set yourself 15 minute timers or something to that effect and write as many words as you can. The idea is that you keep writing no matter how badly you feel about what you've written. I come back to the ones I've written and find some nuggets of wisdom sometimes.

You can also write a smaller idea, a shorter story, or maybe something more like a vignette. Short stories constrain the options you have, so you can focus on the stuff that's most important, and editing it after the fact is a lot easier because its a smaller piece of work.

Most importantly, write anything. If you have an idea and you stop enjoying the idea, swap to something else. You're not trying to make masterworks rn, you're just trying to get the ideas out. And as long as you hold on to what you've written, you can come back to it later. Or you could never look at it again! Whatever works. But follow the muse, so to speak. That helps me.

Thank you very much for your advice! Genuinely, I didn't think of capturing my thoughts without filters and then reworking them into something neater, that way I can polish the idea little by little. That said, I do in fact constantly jump from one idea to another, and while it gives me comfort, I don't give closure to anything, I strive to improve that. Although the creative process involved in research and writing is distracting and calming, I find it hard to do it when I am stressed, it is extremely frustrating, even in a relaxing activity I can't relax. Even with the desire I can't write thanks to the intrusive thoughts that get in the way.

To introduce an explanatory entry about a character, I wrote a short story that tied together all those little loose details to put together a coherent portrait of her. This character is based on a historical character and in the context of the original work she recognizes her factual roots. That happens to many mythologized figures after their death, when reality and fiction mix so much that myth and hero become one. When legends become so great, beloved and captivating, it's hard to believe that there was one person who actually lived up to them. What if these figures were not idealized? Were they really that great in life?

"A person who gradually ceases to be, a human who achieved legendary feats that would be suspected to be fictitious millennia later". That's the idea behind the character in the original work and I just tied all those loose details together into a little tale that tells her story as such. I thought about post it, but now I don't have the head to adapt it to english, it is written in my native language which tend to be "ornate", speaking with adjectives that complement the base sentence is alright, but in english it can sometimes be considered excessive, what we would call "purple prose". Maybe when I'm more relaxed I'll post it, thanks again for your advice, it really opened my mind!

 

[galaxid]

Thank you very much for your advice! Genuinely, I didn't think of capturing my thoughts without filters and then reworking them into something neater, that way I can polish the idea little by little. That said, I do in fact constantly jump from one idea to another, and while it gives me comfort, I don't give closure to anything, I strive to improve that. Although the creative process involved in research and writing is distracting and calming, I find it hard to do it when I am stressed, it is extremely frustrating, even in a relaxing activity I can't relax. Even with the desire I can't write thanks to the intrusive thoughts that get in the way.

To introduce an explanatory entry about a character, I wrote a short story that tied together all those little loose details to put together a coherent portrait of her. This character is based on a historical character and in the context of the original work she recognizes her factual roots. That happens to many mythologized figures after their death, when reality and fiction mix so much that myth and hero become one. When legends become so great, beloved and captivating, it's hard to believe that there was one person who actually lived up to them. What if these figures were not idealized? Were they really that great in life?

"A person who gradually ceases to be, a human who achieved legendary feats that would be suspected to be fictitious millennia later". That's the idea behind the character in the original work and I just tied all those loose details together into a little tale that tells her story as such. I thought about post it, but now I don't have the head to adapt it to english, it is written in my native language which tend to be "ornate", speaking with adjectives that complement the base sentence is alright, but in english it can sometimes be considered excessive, what we would call "purple prose". Maybe when I'm more relaxed I'll post it, thanks again for your advice, it really opened my mind!

Definitely keep at it! Also I know its hard to stay on one idea for long for sure. I think its about brainstorming. I used to jump from idea to idea and sometimes I still do, but I tend to write the same story world, just different shorts that take place in it. Sometimes they're not connected, they have different characters or circumstances, but its like doodling. Its hard but trying to think about it from that perspective helps. Because I'm basically sketching out ideas that I can use, reference, or build lore around later, and that makes my need to get it right one time a lot less intense.

And the thing is, you can always go back to stuff. If you translate it and its not what you prefer, you can change some of the details to suit what you want. But I mean, overly dramatic purple prose can be entertaining, too. It could be a stylistic choice. But I'm avante-garde when it comes to storytelling. Any words you write are good ones, even if you don't like 'em. But the fact that you're adapting it from your native language to english is, itself, a really impressive thing that I wish I could do.

The character you shared sounds compelling! I hope you feel up for sharing it one day, because it sounds interesting. And, if you're anything like me and you don't feel all that confident in the content, you can always share the ideas too. Reading what you just shared was interesting and i feel like I have a good grasp of the idea you're going for with the character. I love sharing stuff like that. Its like brainstorming, because you're rethinking all your ideas and approaching them from the perspective of 'i need to make this make sense to someone else'. That helps me too!

 

[SecretDissociation]

Again
​

Have you tried paced breathing? Yes. Can you show me? Why don't
you
try it
Again?
Again. Have you tried
taking a cold shower?
Yes.
Why don't you try it when you're angry?
Again?
Again.
Again. A gain.

I gain, nothing.

I return, home. Again.

Old skills under my
leather
faux leather
belt.

I go back to therapy, to them again.

New meds. Again. Weight gain.
I gain.

Again.

A trigger. Again.

Home treatment team, again.

Not again. Again. I don't gain nothing.

We can repair the relationship.

I don't want to.

Go through this again.

I want to

GAIN from ther-ah-pee.

Th-eeeeh-raaaah-peeeeee

the desire to live.

Not again.

Because I never had it.

And that will not be again.

It will be A Gain.