Young Writers Society

He's just as lost as you are, Trapped in the world, an endless maze. Everything around is like a blurry haze, People without faces, people without change. They all try ...

Usually when we smile It means something Not to me Behind my smile Is so much They call me goth When constantly, I laugh And smile They call me weird ...

A twisted hand has grasped my mind. Its pen plunged into my black heart and wrenched. The unspeakable— what acts can be contrived!—are whispered, not by brutes, but men of ...

The Black Hole My life is at a standstill, I’m sitting here in pain, Just holding on. I can’t make up my mind, Do I agree? Or not? I try ...

Okay, so this was well descripted and all and surely a nice read just as I expect everything you write to be unfortunately there was something I had to point ...

It's a bit of strange poem, and its not all in old English just parts. Critique away . The beauty of her body, Far surpasses the hatred in thy soul. ...

Beyond The Sun of Day ~~~ Deamonds open out of of their cadges All creatures great and small come out of the dark burrows they once knew, see the sunlight.. ...

Come Out ~~~ Your eyes like slits trying to close for centrys Hidding from your shadow to petrifyed to look behind Your mind full of journeys but afraid to show ...

My first poem since joining! Yay! lol Crit will be very much appreciated. Thanks! --- It is on the rickety porch, Where I wait for it still. My soles are ...

we were buried at the back of our church graveyard. a lot of us died in those fast summer cars. there were no billboards to remind us to slow down. ...

Change This is it. Aeolus tugs at the door as I scamper to slam it one last time. There she is. My heart leaps into my throat. I tried to ...

Tears slowly falling, Scars all over my heart, You want me to feel this pain. My love slowly dies, My heart begins to ache, My soul slowly leaving me. You ...

So I'm sat here on my ass. Listening to all your trash. I've a feeling, I don't know, Something deeper than A dynamo. I feel like whistling along, Singing the ...

I wrote the title for this poem and then came up with something totally different from what I had originally intended, so in that way the title is open to ...

I'm wearing no trousers, and thinking about painting, the shed or the fence. But in my defence, I got nothing much better To do. Pitchfork! A tree full of crows, ...