These are my stories and poems. I want to be a writer.
Why does the night stand for hell and evil and day stand for heaven and good. I think it should be just to opposite. The moon is a cool, calm piece of our home that drifts across our sky.
Why is the card in games, that can be anything number or color or thing you want it to be, called a wild card.
Is everyone like this. Does everyone have talks with themself. Not just silly chatter, but real, meaningful talks in which part of you is argueing with the other.
The warm, scarlet liquid pooled around the young girls body. She could hear her friend calling to her. Screaming.
Some people think it's simple. Life. Death. You live then you die then you spend your life in heaven. Or hell. But what if you lived forever. Never aging or dieing. Always here. All knowing.
The old woman's hand rose shaking, and pointed towards the shadows, "The exit there..." she mumbled slowly. "But you never go get out." she concluded, as though she had said it a million times.
So knew she owed him a life time of happy, but she didn't even have happy for herself. And so she ran and she hid behind a veil of stars.
That feeling that you're broken. That the cut will never heal. That feeling that you're over. That the pain is just too real. That feeling that you're lost. That the world has stopped.
A sweet, lulling voice calls, "Come closer, come closer." It wraps around me, like a silk robe over a frail child. The boy stood there, a dream that always returned in my nightmares.