Young Writers Society

“Go fuck yourself.” Blonde, thin, tan, manicured, perfumed. Lipstick the color of blood – not quite, but similar enough. Beautiful girl. Her name is Kelly. Cocaine addict, dabbles in heroin. ...

keep still we stopped at the café by the harbor docks talked for an hour in the window seat of how you'd take me south in the winter you drank ...

Title: The Rose Grower Author: Michelle de Kretser Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance, Polictical Rating: 10/10...fantabulous read, very beautiful to read Summary: It is July 14, 1789, a date which wi

Repose I needed it…the arrival of winter. It wasn’t time though, yet I wanted its onset. Forever in life I have carefully pampered my wants above my duties but how ...

new title...woot: Eolenel Project I am currently working on! YAY! Yes this is all of chapter one, finally. I love the long wee hours at work where I just get ...

Perhaps, as writers, the question is not 'what will you create,' but rather, 'when you are gone, what will create you?' DEATH OF A NOVELIST My story, such as it ...

This is a post of two poems in one POST. First one is "Lies" the second, "Fake." I hope you enjoy them both. "LIES" ‘Well I love you.’ What a ...

I know something is wrong with this poem. I just cant figure it out. Will you give me suggestions? >When I was at my worst You showed me the light ...

eee...gads...I wrote this so long ago...eek I don't even know when, feel free to tear it apart. my take on a King Arthur story... Chapter One The Travelers Rest in ...

I wrote this last year a while back... Around this time of year, right before my birthday or so... I took the comments I recieved into consideration and this is ...

She She stands there still Her crow black hair a shadow vagrant to the world Her soul is chill And plain to see, heralded by dark flag unfurled Eyes colder ...

I laugh at her bony body attempting to get off the concrete floor, her nose gushing uncontrollably with blood. She covers it up, tears spilling from her eyes. Other kids ...

Sit over here, Let’s pick at the scabs, From the time our wounds wouldn’t heal. Look in my eyes, Does my hurt still remain, From the time we both realized, ...

'Hi mum! I'm home!' I walk in and flop down on the sofa. we went through the same routine. Dad walks out out of the kitchen and I say 'hi' ...

I've not wrote for a few months, I had block. Situation: I was bored out of my mind yesterday with the Gastric flu so I decided to write some poetry. ...