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@burnedoutwriter
i used to be the best part of your day.
i used to be the place where you could hide
from the big, bad world
and know that everything will be ok.
i used to be your treasured,
the love we shared was priceless.
you made me feel more loved and valued
than i ever thought could occur.
you used to hold me tight.
you used to not wanna let me go.
you used to promise me forever,
now i guess you've changed your mind.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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hi, how've you been?
what's been going on lately?
i wanna hear everything.
what've you been doing to pass the days?
i'm running out of ways,
ways to pass the time we used to spend
talking or laughing or
just sitting quietly in each other's presence.
i saw something the other day
that i know would make you laugh.
i almost took a picture to send to you
before i remembered where we were at.
everywhere i go i see a memory of us,
us at the park,
us at the store,
even us at my front door.
and now it's just me,
and i'm trying to let go.
just me and your freedom,
wondering how you're doing in the world.
Something about rainy November days brings out the writer in me
The only satisfaction that comes from completing three assignments due on the same day is the feeling of relief that you no longer have to deal with them anymore.
The satisfaction that comes from writing is the feeling of completion within yourself. A beautiful piece of art that you conceived in your mind and released into the world. Something you are happy to call your own because it was of your own volition, with your own style, and in your own time.
The satisfaction that comes from creating art is unparalleled.
I miss writing.
I scarcely know what to write about these days. No time for stories, short or long. No brain power either. I am currently unable to build characters and worlds like I used to, my creativity being used up by demanding schoolwork.
Not enough thoughts for poems either. I have plenty that I have yet to share with anyone, but I no longer have any inspiration for new pieces. Is it the schoolwork as well? My brain feels like it is barely functioning, simply going through the motions and barely surviving all the work that is being asked of it. There is no space for the work it wants to do.
So I have resorted to “train of consciousness” writings. These peepholes into my inner thoughts that provide no story, no moral, no clever wordplay or beautiful metaphoric language. Just. My thoughts.
I should be writing my paper for class right now. But I’m so bored of analyzing literature. I wish to be creating literature. Creating my own narratives rather than trying to decode someone else’s.
I do blame school for my current lack of creative flow. My brain has been on the logical setting for far too long. I’m losing my sense of wonder, the sense of carefreeness and lightness that is necessary for a writer.
Hopefully that returns soon. I miss myself.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i seek peace and salvation at the used bookstore downtown
on tangerines and tenderness 🍊
@rosewater1997 / @ljza / ‘tintin in tibet’ by mount eerie / youqing wang / ‘we are okay’ by nina lacour / @sunsbleeding
TO EVERYONE SAYING THEY'RE INSECURE ABOUT THEIR WRITTING:
I've been seeing a lot of people reposting their insecure about their writting and its really sad because ik for a FACT most of you write BEAUTIFULLY. So I just wanted to send some motivation because writting is hard, and writers deserve love. You guys are literally creating ENTIRE REALITIES with your imaginations . Wether it be fan ficts, short story writers, etc., You are giving us a key into experiencing the world from a different perspective. Your craft is an escape, your craft is inspiring. Its always good to want to be better, but please appreciate the work you're doing RIGHT NOW. It may not seem like much, but your stories are so much more than just words in a page. Its the adventure we never experienced, its the worlds we never got to see. Writers please, whatever you write, I want to assure you today it IS good enough. Because you bled your thoughts into the page, because you were brave enough to create. Writting doesnt have to be perfect, for perfection is nothing but a myth, writting just needs to exist. Insecurity is normal but let me tell you today, your writting is worth it, your ideas are worth it, your work is worth it.
Writers, keep your heads high, continue to poor your soul into your words and know you never have to punish yourself for creating
Much love for all of you
You are watching a fantasy tv show and the main character chants a spell made up of seemingly gibberish words. Absentmindedly, you murmur the same syllables, feeling the strange sounds roll off your tongue. Next to you, a candle lights on its own.
How do you apologize to someone who hates the word “sorry”?
How do I express the overwhelming regret
That fills my heart and mind
Every time I think about how I hurt them?
“You’re not really sorry,
Otherwise you wouldn’t say it so many times.”
But I am
I truly am
I mean it every time
I apologize.
I know nothing else I say can make it better,
And knowing that hurts even more.
So this is my pathetic attempt to prove to you
That I didn’t mean it
That I still care
That I’m hoping you know this one incident doesn’t change the fact
That I’m still there.
And I hope you will be too.
I hope you remember all the other good times we’ve had together
Doesn’t that prove our bond enough?
Must I still walk on eggshells around you
Constantly evaluating my words and predicting the effect they might have on you,
Praying that the next thing that comes out of my mouth doesn’t drive you away?
I know you’ve been hurt
I know you withdraw to protect yourself from any more hurt.
And god dammit I try so hard not to be the next source of that hurt
Because I know your trust is a delicate thing
And I value it so much
I feel so honored that you have chosen to offer what little vulnerability you’re capable of
To me.
Anyway the whole point of this is to let you know
That I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,
None of us are.
I know we might inadvertently hurt each other in the future
But that’s just what happens.
We make mistakes.
I don’t mean it.
You don’t mean it.
We know.
We’re still here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i’ve spent a lifetime
giving you my heart
i swear that i’ll be yours forever
‘til forever falls apart
For the elemental creatures go
About my table to and fro,
That hurry from unmeasured mind
To rant and rage in flood and wind;
Yet he who treads in measured ways
May surely barter gaze for gaze.
Man ever journeys on with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon,
A Druid land, a Druid tune!
To Ireland in the Coming Times
by William Butler Yeats
“The Astronomer lives within The Observatory; an esoteric piece of architecture that does not lend itself to being found by conventional means. You do not find The Observatory, you simply end up there if it wishes you to. All those who live and work within this impossibly large center of celestial research identify themselves only by their roles within it. Indeed, there is no recollection of names given from outside The Observatory, but there are names; The Scribe, The Archivist, The Accountant, The Security, even The Custodian, all graciously bestowed upon those working within The Observatory by The Observatory itself. The title is the identity, the identity is the honor; all that came before has no relevance inside the sanctity of The Observatory. Though The Custodian, The Security, The Scribe, and all others are many, The Astronomer is very few and most precious to The Observatory. The Astronomer carries the privilege’s of gazing into the telescope to behold the celestial bodies free of consequence. Their first meeting requires an eye that will not be missed, the eye pressed to the lens of the telescope, to be plucked from the nascent astronomer’s head. In its place, a gift is bestowed; an otherworldly prosthetic that bestows but the smallest portion of the night sky’s vast power. From that moment on, The Astronomer is home among the Circle of Stars.” My Aasimar Circle of Stars Druid, The Astronomer~! An easy going, outwardly “laissez-faire” sort who will calmly and casually do good, recklessly. They have been…displaced from The Observatory, along with the only other known survivor; a Celestial pact of the chain warlock Tiefling named The Custodian. They both intend to remedy the situation, though The Astronomer’s urgency to do so seems to pale in comparison to their no-nonsense tiefling counterpart. The Astronomer is content to appreciate the fresh air they’ve been so unceremoniously thrust into. They have faith that all things will fall into their rightful place in due time.
I never liked that song
but once I knew it was your favorite
I listened to it on repeat and
it became one of the best songs I've heard
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to play you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart."
It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned.
You and your crew decide to split up to cover more ground. During your exploration, you soon come across bodies, or what was left of them. Stranger yet, the bodies seem to have different wounds. Some were shot, some stabbed, and one even looked to be bitten in half. Eventually you and your team come across what seemed to be a mess hall, with the exception of a red button labeled “EMERGENCY”. Figuring it wouldn’t even work on a ghost ship, you move on. You continue exploring, from the trash collector to an air lock. Suddenly, red lights blare and a voice comes across the speakers. “AN EMERGENCY MEETING HAS BEEN CALLED”, it screams. Your group rushes back to the button with the rest of your crew.
The rest of your crew, except for one.
You now understand why it’s a ghost ship.
