the sun must set if we wish to bask in its warmth.

i push aside the visions that mock me.

i'm entitled to an infestation.

i can't hold onto my brain cells.

i only wonder how thoroughly i've been soaked with all the years spent trapped by her.

i stared at the furry mold and considered cleaning.

REWRITE again. Alexander Little is a loser, and he knows it. He panics in social situations, and his best friend is his cat. A cute girl who bakes cakes and a rainbow-haired boy with OCD will change this...if Zander doesn't manage to kill himself first.

Chelsea Parker loves to be plain and perfect even though she adores everything screwed up. This is perhaps because she has a secret: an alien scientist visits her on a nightly basis and experiments on her as well as with her. Nano 2009.

even though she'd told herself she'd never be kitty maule.

The longer I stay here, the longer I am one with the scenery, and you are one with this frigid bed.

Appearances aren't everything.

Alexander Little is a self loathing mall Goth who wants to end it all. An adorable cake baking girl and a flamboyant, snobby rich boy with rainbow hair will change this. Eventually. Go read the new version instead.

this is not perfect.

Gwen is by most means a typical young teenage girl. Her life consists of studying to get straight As and hanging out with her punk older brother's gossipy friends, who find her quirks amusing. One day she sort of meets someone new in math class.

asexuality.

and what i saw was light used to seep from her every pore.

yeah, i'm just having fun. don't judge me!

it's the coffee, i swear.

isn't working quickly enough.

I'd be better heavily medicated. I've found no answers wide awake and alert.

dry lips meet my sticky ones, and in my mouth, a slimy tongue.

I've been enlightened by many smacks in the head. Glasses knocked off my face, brain cells racing to be saved.

It just happens to be reeeeeally, really artsy. It's also a PARODY. This means you should probably not leave serious reviews about why it's good because it's BAD on purpose.

Something I wrote for fun: a reflection on bullshit. May offend if you're insightful.

I crossed the bridge where the water was pink, laden with animal carcasses, the small skeletons exposed.

She will swallow you whole.

Unending grey skies and rain that never falls. I feel so plain.

Jane likes staring at straight girls, but that's hardly her strangest secret. What feels like love...

The squiggles you emanate are odd.

The line between childhood and now blurs.

Self satisfaction is lime green.

A series of vignettes about a boring little girl from her point of view. I don't think I do this style justice.

No one wants a doll like you.

When only serenity remains, are you anything?

I want enough praise to form an addiction.

If only she knew.

Writing is prostitution of your feelings.

This was a school assignment. Most students wrote about the fleeting nature of life or some crap like that. I wrote about dessert.

She shook as they placed their hands on her. Just because you can't understand the meaning, that doesn't mean it's not there.

These are the thoughts of a girl with a Peter Pan complex, moments before she ceases to be fourteen. They are not as light as you might expect.

I don't know who in the world would be flattered if given these words.

Revel in your mediocrity!

Though I am unsure how it happened, it seems I have ceased to be a writer.

An odd but intriguing affair.

I'll hide it better than you hid that scratch.

I put all my faith in the idea that she and I would fall together.

No paper I wrote could express that one secret.

Though I am a sadist, I do suffer more.

This is a story of many things, none of which are very pleasant.

I was only six...I wanted a Rice Krispies Treat and nothing more...This was for school. Now I can't even eat the silly things because I'm a vegetarian, and gelatin comes from animals. Heh.

Some villain has trapped some little girl in his dungeon...Oh, what fun!

I can't believe I wrote this for an English assignment.

Sometimes I randomly contemplate my existence in the middle of the night.

It's pure, concentrated anger...and not really the typical kind.

This is so goofy. It's great fun.

A story of degeneration.

You were always so good, and you loved telling me how I wasn't. Hypocrite.

Red Ink was once a story, but I am now detached from it.

This has a lot of actual rhyming. Wow.

I displease myself so much...I'd kill you if I could.

I could describe this as so many things, but in the end it's just suicide.

Anger and all that silly stuff. Again.

Loneliness is both a state of being and a state of mind.

I believe I'm getting redundant with this...

I'll admit sometimes I miss you. What's it like drenched in the light? What's it like on the other side? I'm sorry I tried to corrupt you.

Well, this is gleeful.

Yes, I got the idea for the title from an AFI song. Shut up. It went well with the...situation.

I'm quite partial to the title. Perhaps this, like many other things I've done, is NOT my best work. It's short. But maybe, just maybe, I made a point.

It's not strange to me...but I wrote it.

I like it a little bit. I expect you to take it the wrong way.

This is pretty silly, considering the incident on which it was based...but you may delude yourself and call it 'profound' if you'd like.

I changed this from 'Excrement of Humanity' to the much more amusing title it is now. I'm very pleased with that.

I whined quite a lot in this poem...but I DO know what was wrong with me. I'm still a bit ashamed.

I've done better...but this tells a story.

I swear there's a point to this poem. Perhaps you'll be interested.

...I haven't been having that great a time on Earth.

Rather annoying and immature hate.

Some days I hate you. Today I hate me.

Do I not have a good reason for all my complaining?

She didn't wish to grow.

No suicide this time. It's you, not me, who needs to go.

I could kill you, I swear...Is it because I couldn't be you?

It makes sense in its own way. In fact, it's a bit obvious.

And I've always hated, hated...All the humans in your world...

Take it from someone without a perfect life...Or at least someone who can spell.

You grew up, and I did not...And it makes you a better person...I'll tell you it sucks...

Every now and then I want to write a short story. So I do. And then I post it on this website, not knowing whether it's good or not, so I beg people to review it. The end.

Must I always have that goofy grin on my face?

Come on, who can resist that title?

This was originally about my lunch table in third grade. It has since been improved. I find it to be very sorrowful.

My envy of her, my admiration...Our likenesses that drove our deadly differences.

A bitter twelve-year-old I was.

She should have been killed...but it's never too late.

Written thanks to my desire to use 'horrible' as a noun. Brilliant, huh?

Some things never go away...

Please, someone...Won't you turn me off?

I had to write a fairy tale parody for school.

I think the title says it all.

We all know too many people like this...boys and girls. This song could really be about anyone.

This is about a very Anne Gwish-esque girl. Ick.

Did I grow up too much or too little?

All I want is to feel again.

I have a mission to save the world from being stupid, doing stupid things, and killing themselves...but I'm not much better.

This is frustration towards humanity...without the suicidal thoughts.

This is a slighty ironic short story. It's about revenge...but not exactly justice.

Ah, just something I wrote about my life. READ! Or, rather, read my other stuff, it's much better than this...

When my notebook was read by someone who was not I, I was quite ashamed for a while. This is a song I wrote during that time.

I don't know why that day was so strange...

Ah...just something I wrote about depressing stuff.

Is that why he loves her?

As humans, we own nothing.

This is a little short story that was intended to go along with my novel-length story, Red Ink, but that has been scrapped. This now stands alone.

This is silly. Oh well.

Insignificant.

It's not very nice, but I'm less ashamed of that fact than I used to be.

I never wanted to do anything for love. I only felt guilty that I was terrible.

This is mean. I'm free of all guilt.

I recall that I wrote this in five minutes.

This is a very angry song I wrote when I was hating the world more than usual. I enjoy it.

You never end up with your elementary school rival...

This was written for a story of mine when I was eleven. It's okay.

My pretty inner torment.

Don't laugh now, I'm going insane...

THIS IS NOT A METAPHOR! It's actually about how I felt when I was little, and it's VERY literal.

A poem about insomnia and a knife.

Paranoia, insanity, hilarity...What more could you ask of me? It's all in this poem!

This was my very first metaphor, first written when I was eleven, posted when I was twelve. Now I love metaphors!

She takes the knife and thinks...

This is silly and angry. I look back at it with both fondness and frustration.

The sky is falling...

When you can't find your way and are filled with middle school angst, life becomes quite boring.

I was between ten and eleven when I wrote these songs. If I didn't think I'd improved, I'd shoot myself.