Young Writers Society

Killing emotion That human condition Dragging our consciousness into the dust While logic and reason The clearminded decision Are cast by the wayside to molder and rust

As the man studied the crimson Rorschach test left on his bathroom wall, he decided that it reminded him of a butterfly in a frog's mouth, or maybe of cat ...

LENS My life revolves around Rod Stewart and his hopeless optimism, cascading over my cut strings and broken back as I lie in bed next to this week's dream, this ...

So the assignment in my creative writing class was to write an Elegy. I'm not that good at poetry so... here it goes. I hope you like it, and I ...

So, I wrote this and figured I'd record it, just for fun and because I haven't recorded anything for a long time. Couldn't quite get it to turn out as ...

You cut beer cakes over my wrists, and I wince - enchanted eyes, you watch my artwork and it burns you, I hope that it turns you away. This is ...

Dearest friend, Your life isn’t worthless. You have all the worth, Of one that I respect. Without you, Who would I laugh with? Who would I cry with? I have ...

I need your help! I’m currently writing a poem - it’s about a couple who broke up at a young age and then reuniting five years on. I’ve written the ...

We lay back on the cold sand, The better to watch the night. The two of us, spread eagled Left over laughter still escaping in blows, Trying to catch our ...

[Too short, I know.] I know the corners of his mouth, they bleed, they blaze, they search you out - you are the smoke he talks about, the dancing smoke ...

God talked to me today,And I could tell he wasn't pleased.He said I should just stop it all,Before I get diseased.He said I should put down the pills,That made me ...

shackled with pumping veins, iron and oxygen - the heartstrings lead the way along the floor, down to the bedsheets where she's adorned her body in [blood and gore]. pearls ...

Lost in transition between parking spaces, that lie neither here nor there, but somewhere up ahead-- along the crossroads of a moment yet to come, that still is veiled in ...

Wordmaker What are we called? Wordmakers. What are we born of and what do we craft? Words. What do they call us? The Inkweavers, The Invisible Mouths, The Faceless Voices ...

Very nice, Brad. You know I'm fond of your work. My biggest suggestion would be to (in some way) move the second stanza to a more active tone. The languid ...