#poorwriting

[king-lewa-blog]

#Power is outta line if they did this lol #Croop @cedtheentertainer #QuickDeathScene #PoorWriting https://www.instagram.com/p/B4ck2mWFJ32/?igshid=1ijobkj35kqtm

[honestmonkey]

you confessed that you've thought of me in that way

and i confessed that i don't have those feelings

for anyone or for anything

i'm not sure what's worse; struggling with lust

or not being able to conjure any feeling

what is yearning or fantasy?

i try to think of touch and the breath of proximity

and it's shallow; it's cold; there's nothing there

share with me these images you weave

these sensations in your body

when i'm naked and vulnerable in your mind's eye

because i bet i'm as lifeless in a dream

as i am in your arms

[beginners-end]

Candy 11/03/09

As soon as she walked into that barren room her heart started beating against her ribcage; it was so loud, she was scared other people might be able to hear it too. Her feet sounded like a million rain-drops pattering down on sand with loud clasps of angry, resonating fear. The air wasn't ready for it. Clouded eyes blocked her view, although she could still sense the walls closing in on her, yelling at her to get out, warning her. Claustrophobia was wringing its claws around her neck, temptingly suffocating her synapses. Butterflies swam beneath her peachy skin, cutting her stomach lining into a million fluttering ribbons. Since the day she returned from that sterilised hospital everyone called her Candy, because of the contrast between her pure white skin and dark gray eyes; as if warning everyone of their perrils of all the sunny days that had yet to drag knives across their shoulder blades.  She'd be lying amongst the buttercups and tulips with her Persian gray cat called Ruphus curled up at her head, keeping his paws warm forgetting the dragonflies and goldfish, purringly with evangelical bliss. Never did she know her mother would be leaning against the door frame, puffing on her Silk Cut eying her daughter with pure envy. Following her ebony legs up to her golden hair in a clump on the grass with lustful sadistic plans in mind. She'd leave Candy there asleep on the grass, Alice spread out on her lap and Ruphus long gone. With her nose pressed up against the window pane, long bony fingers clutching and scratching at the wooden frames frosting the glass leaving it laden with beads of saliva, still watching her daughter, as if death had kissed her she felt envious once more. She'd leave her there for dead, till she'd come knocking at the back door, bones shaking in the wind and a million goose bumps painted on her porcelain hair, feathers on petroleum wings flaring. Suddenly hundreds of people, lonely hearts, filled the dark room long forgotten by the sun's kindness. She couldn't tell their faces apart, couldn't recognise not a soul no matter how far she spread her red, dripping fingers. Her mother was on the podium. A smitten smile creeping across her face. Candy could just picture her mother's glee at having every dark eye upon her, even if they were filled with angst and fire.                                                             "Please tell the jury how you                                                                      came about your act, Ms. Sitton" They couldn't see the girl who's flesh had been cut and ripped off of her tiny frame with a bread knife and sewn back together with barbed wire, a concoction of lust and jealousy embedded to fill up the gaps. They hadn't pictured the walls of her bedroom sprayed crimson and the floor boards creaking under the weight of deflated lungs. No, they couldn't see the little girl in the pink cotton frock with ebony legs and golden hair.                   But she could see them.

[heavenyang]

Late Night

It's late and I wish I was already tucked comfortably in my bed, but unfortunately, I have a paper that I forgot about. The worst part? It's due tomorrow.

If there's one thing I hate ... it's writing a paper the day before! I absolutely hate turning in papers that have been written with little to no effort just because it was written the night before.

I don't know how people do it. I don't know how people have the kind of passion that enjoys the writing. I am struggling to find the words to keep this paper going, but I just can't find any - not yet, anyway. 

I never realized how awful I was at writing until I came to college, until my professors legitimately began to point out everything wrong about the papers I wrote, until I began to care.

[charheux]

I always think I've said something wrong to everyone. Whether they don't answer or look at me weird, I always think people don't like me even when they do. Too many times I've thought somebody liked me back only to be left looking idiotic and small. So I must be hesitant, and slow, until the people I doubt show me how they truly feel through an action or even a phrase.

[hot-craving]

What I hate about TV shows

I HATE when they start a NEW season off with a FAKE death, they did it on Castle, they did it on TVD, they did on Revenge, its all stupid lazy writing.  Its the start of the season why be stupid and pretend to kill a MAIN character whether they are the villian, the comedian, the ghost or whoever, find a better route to get people to hang around all season.  Be Original for once, stop trying to pull on the heartstrings and make a quality show with real thought provoking informational content.

Rant over!!