dankwords

I'm broken and can't be fixed.

"I guess she'll have to do…"

Nobody knows what punctuality is anymore.

Pills are what keep me alive. 

an argument

"Of course we're still in love!"

A statement they tell us kids, accompanied by

Cries of hurt

Tears of anger

Shakings of the house,

Right down to the foundation,

Cracking and breaking

I finally did it

I finally hit

Rock

Bottom.

"Is today the day?"

I ask

So, so many times.

But I can’t.

Too much I haven't done.

But ending would be

So, so much easier.

She sipped tea out of her favorite mug, the one she refused to throw away when it had slipped out of her hand and chipped. Her hair was still in the messy bun it had been in when she slept, a warm blanket cocooning her on the sofa. A smile blossomed when she saw him emerge from the shadowed hallway. He returned her beam and glided towards her. What a shame, he thought, that this must end.

pretty

“Am I pretty?”

You are not pretty, exactly.

No, you have to be more than that.

Radiant as the sun,

Striking as a set or rise,

Beautiful as the first blossom

On a cherry tree,

As perfect as the

Lily I gave to you

When we first started -

Whatever this is.

I am dumbstruck by you

Every time you enter a room

Or open your mind

And enlighten the world with your

Brilliant thoughts.

So, no, you’re not pretty.

Exactly.

How'd it go? Please don’t ask.

She never received anything of value. 

Life's short and the world's wide. 

Their relationships always ended in tears.

Homework can wait but life can't.

procrastination

this was also inspired by a friend of mine, who took a “journey”

People say I am unlike my mother But this is not so. See, my mother- She used words as her knives, Her weapons against me I was broken. So, what did I do? I decided that I could make words my weapons I could use them to fight back against all of The bad people in the world And use them to empower all of the good.

Light/ Dark

Light is familiar, crisp Clean; Bright, it exposes Secrets, making people cringe. Seemingly safe, actually fatal. Light is deadly for the innocent. Dark is frightening, cold, Unwelcoming; Black, it hides Promises; Black, it hides dreams Unspoken by the people. Dark is comforting to the silenced.

on creativity

I really want to be creative. I really do. I just don’t have it in me. There aren't any original ideas, I think that's the root of the problem. I can write parodies, I can imitate styles, I can take the same type of pictures everyone else takes. But I can’t write an original song, or brand my own style, or take interesting pictures. Lack of originality is a real issue for me, and that's what I really worry about with my future. I hate science and math, and I love words, but they never seem to be entirely my own. Or maybe that isn't the issue. Maybe the issue is I lack the means to produce what I think up. I have wonderful ideas for stories, I just can’t seem to find the right words to convey exactly what is playing on the little screen in my head. I can see the portrait or landscape or candid shot I want to draw or take, but it just doesn’t happen and it's very frustrating, being unable to produce the masterpieces in your head. Maybe that's why I waste away on the internet, because other people in my situation were able to make something original, inspired by other people, and be successful from it, but I know I'll never be able to. That's why I spend every free second scrolling on my phone, liking and favoriting and retweeting. Because these people have created remarkable worlds for themselves, and I'm running out of ideas.

Their eyes agreed to unspoken promises. She almost said yes, but alas… Are we flirting? I hope not… I just want to feel something. Thoughts translate to words for you.

i’ve been trying to continue this but it’s not happening, thought i’d share it anyways.

The leaves crunched under her feet as she walked, brisk autumn wind blowing her hair. It seemed as if she walked this path thousands of times since June. The walk never shortened, nor did the pain lessen. She approached the clearing, exhaling a cloud of mist as she stopped. The meadow could have been described as beautiful: even in November, the maple trees encircled the frost-coated grass, still sprinkled with tiny white wildflowers. But for her, this place was worse than anything. One lone headstone sank into the ground in the center of the clearing. Angry tears burned paths in her cheeks, mourning for their stupidity.

burn-out

It's all falling apart Everything I've worked for I have no motivation No drive And the few days I can manage doing something I am unable to do anything Because of innumerable preparations For the future