Young Writers Society

For ever I would murder my temple, leave it pining in a polluted field that reeks of my red vodka vomit. I could love you more than that, for ever, ...

n/a

I. When in subtle mass I weighed, Latent boughs kicked fleshy drum. Falling circumstances staid The appetite for love and thumb. Patience swaddled in the moons Through clouds about my ...

Was it Worth It? with every beat i wince from the pain tears cant describe the unimaginable sorrow to sit and stare at the girl of your dreams but thats ...

he fell down she offered a hand he hit the ground she helped him stand she asked if he was ok all he did was shrug she knew he wasnt ...

Should I? it gives us a view of what's out there but no one knows untill they venture beyond beyong its wooden panes and plates of glass there is a ...

The sweat upon my skin crusts like blood tonight, as your guitar picks itself within the ribs of my head. Love, they may taunt me, but it is less than ...

I long to catch a greyhound, spotted with a silver diet drink and sharp toes cutting her path down these city streets. I want to teach her my name, sandwich ...

The living martyrs of our craft, we unhinge stars, peel leaf after stunned leaf from our ripened minds. We have seen what others failed to see: that which lies somewhere ...

city rooftops and too-bright skies grant courage to those who leap. soft cradle below of beautiful lies, silenced wings from the darkness rise, and gently land in a heap. Note: ...

I wrote this when I was fourteen, I wasn't writing happy stuff back then. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Desperado Danny In Despair" (original title)

The light is fading in front of me, As if this was my death. Or is it becoming stronger? For the future that may be. This explains many thoughts Of ...

Starting a poem with the phrase "dead body" is certainly a way to draw people in. The bit: "Know that a stranger can disappear into a mid-sized city" seemed a ...

this is how our love ends; nostalgia won't save us from tomorrow: there are too many fragments to collect crumbling words speak volumes. we are separated by history; the waters ...

hey, i wrote this poem awhile ago and i redid a lot of it, mostly to your comments. let me know what you think about the changes. thanks! Envious thief- ...