Young Writers Society

Night Wings sing of their suffering at the hands (or talons) of the one behind it all. Crepuscule.

Inspired by the song: Over the hills and far away

I don't hate you, I hate the me you become.

The night is beautiful, and also annoying.

What it says on the tin.

For those who don't appreciate the darkness of northern hemisphere winter.

How is our identity affected by our human nature vs the nurture we receive? How does one love someone who no longer exists?

random musings ~~~

Some day-to-day thoughts about the meaning of life in parallel with the weather and theater.

Hey, this is my first hendecasyllabic Latin poem. Criticism by a Latinist about the metre, the text, and the elision will be appreciated. Peace!

A poem about societies standards on women.

An ode to the absence of the cold in the peak of December

In my dream I was dead.

You took my friend for granted.

Written by a complete simp (aka me)