Young Writers Society

Agitation And Aggravation, deterioration of the mind, thought, and feeling you clench a fist, think rage but swallow your thoughts; bottle the meaning. think... think what?!... ok, you can't make ...

A nice ending, but the majority of it made me somewhat naseous. It hardly sounded like you at all - it seemed like somebody trying far too hard to assume ...

MAGIC The magician drinks quietly alone at the back of the bar. He does not hate them all, but in his bones he is tired of favors, tired of seeing ...

The fresh dew glistens on the orange grass, the suns stealing a peak over walking hills, while animals fly, circling over the reservoir under a full moon. and a screech ...

Dirty Job’s Confession That day you were sickly in bed I was crawling within you. I came for you, their time will come While they sit helplessly in stiff-backed chairs ...

One does not begin to describe loss - the words were never there. It can be told from an army of saltine crackers and music blasting static sorrows into the ...

the shadow calls to her, whispers entice her into the darkness she so longs for. the darkness, her escape from reality. the ever beckoning, ever cold darkness she now knows ...

Dirty Job's Confession That day you were sickly in bed I was seething within you. I came for you, their time will come While they sit helplessly in stiff-backed chairs ...

Valentines Day is here again and I really wish it weren't... It came again last year, so what's the point of it again this year? Candys in rectangle boxes are ...

deleted for being disgustingly emo . *Fan*

You handed me a cracked beer bottle, caked in dirt, and ran course fingers through your hair. Everything about you has been rough lately, like sandpaper, like your half-bitten nails ...

I enjoyed reading this, it was really well-done, the only part that I would maybe change is: I know you live in the middle of nowhere because I turned my ...

I sit and wonder at the purpose in the movement of this dance, lining the floor plan of our lives with faded footprints in the sand. God, wouldn’t it be ...

Since first grade, I have bullied about looks. And also, for my passion of books. Reading anything I see, Writing anything that pops into my head. Along with my silliest ...

They say that heroes never cry. They couldn't be more wrong. I've seen tears cascade down your pallid face for everyone but you. After the foulest words vanished from the ...