Young Writers Society

vultures dancing tyrants waving obscenities in the air women want to cut their smut so the worms won't eat their luck out men want to shoot out the boar's head ...

This was highly enjoyable.

There is no such word as eachother Is this self-preservation? This dog-love-dog-hate-dog world? Something tells me that somewhere in my schedule, between totalitarian psychology and interior design, y

I wrote this for school living in Florida I've been in a lot of hurricanes but i can never get used to them i hope this explains how i feel ...

That bloody cat! Such a pest Bouncing balls Catnip toy Rattling mouse She bites my hands And nips my nose Won't let me work I close the door She just ...

They light candles despite the flourescent lighting and large windows lighting the hallway The wicks of the small, round candles slowly burn down to nothingness, like a sort of primitive ...

Alright. So here is my first attempt at poetry in over a year. More of a whim than a serious attempt. I'm posting it mainly so I can know what ...

"Terra firma" you whispered, as our sailboat came to earth sails flapping wildly as the hull scraped the beach, and my skirt was drenched with salty spray. But the sand ...

I like the fact that you worked in myspace and...the entire poem was like a non sequitor. or I'm just stoned.Eyes too pretty for pictures is probably approaching chiche country. ...

A storm approaches to strip me of my childhood. I can feel it like the tension in a room, before the exchange of angry words. No longer are there monsters ...

The Best Friend A best friend, Someone who you cherish above all else, Someone you can laugh with about boys, make-up – anything and everything. Someone who sets aside time ...

The Cat Laughing, on the way to school, A girl sees a cat in the road. She laughs; she thinks it’s sunbathing, But as she walks past, she sees blood ...

Is this how the old man feels? The pain is low, indentured servants nibbling at organ-walls, sloshing hydriodic acids that spray up to the tongue, up caustic rivers of life ...

The heavy air promises a storm. As we climb up, the clouds climb down. Breath is elusive. I trip, fall. You look back to offer help but I wave away ...

Someone once told me that the apocalypse will be blue, and that the saddest day of our lives is when we look into the mirror and know our own eyes. ...