Your tears are the lifeblood of a wild creature unnamed. Sammicakes
An alternate ending to The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, my favorite book that I've read in high school. I would highly recommend it if you like introspective, sad stories. This is an old assignment I did two years ago that I found recently. Enjoy! ~ There was a tangible silence. Elbows propped up over … Continue reading Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar
A story of a demon and a cursed mortal. If nothing matters, then fall. I know you’ll just save me. I won’t. I’ve already tried a dozen times now. You won’t let me die. Would you like to gamble your life one last time? You won’t let me die. Then fall, Ismus. Somewhat intrigued? Check … Continue reading Ismus and the Deity of Death
When I could not form thoughts, or even ask simple questions (like asking to go to the bathroom), I turned to paper. My failure to speak allowed me to listen, observe, and then inscribe. This is the main reason why I hold writing so close to my heart--more than drawing or singing or baking or running--since it will always be my most eloquent form of communication. The words I say aloud are never as honest or precise as the ones I type and scribble.
last night's nightmare. I didn’t know we were going to a hotel until I opened my eyes one morning and found myself in one. I asked my parents where we were, and they responded with tight, wide smiles that made their cheeks touch their ears. This was a bad answer to me, so I turned … Continue reading hotel it do be make you happy
~another essay that I wrote for my literature class~ An individual’s nation of residence can shape their mentality for the rest of their lives; not only does it affect how one sees the world, but it also contributes to their happiness, goals, and overall mental health. A culture’s influence on a population is evident in … Continue reading Mental Illness: Genetic or Environmental?
Imperative Incessance this existence is stone a force that gravity would not dare kiss. fingers pulsate and go numb under the touch, the futile embrace of silver, enwrapped about a withered wrist. tune out the empty drum of strangled voices to only feel the same few words gliding— slipping, burning into my brain. ones that … Continue reading Imperative Incessance