Intoxicated with dismay
Powerful but clumsy
He aims to drown himself
Bottle after bottle
He searches for the right answers
But all seems lost to him
He calls, "Another round"
To find he is cut off
He begs for more of the poison
He needs it, the answer
It must be there, somewhere
He just needs to search more
His arms at now taken from him
A man on either side
He continues to beg
But they do not hear him
He feels the cold air on his face
As he hits the concrete
He feels eyes of others
Watching him and pointing
He struggles to his feet
No longer were they his
But bewitched by poison
He runs the best he can
The poison has full control
Morin looked around him expecting to see his room, but instead saw nothing. Not even the faint outline of objects through night’s dark. No, this was nothing like darkness, this was in fact nothing at all. Pitch black darkness, with nothing left but him and his bed floating in what could be a never ending fall into the abyss of a black hole.
Morin didn't look at the sheets as he peeled them back from his body. Instead the boy felt transfixed on everything around him. The unnatural darkness was like light in which he was a moth that could not turn from the alluring call of a bug zapper. Was this what was happening? Was he dead? The boy s
Finlow Yellowgrass OC Refference Sheet by TheKrown, literature
Literature
Finlow Yellowgrass OC Refference Sheet
Name: Finlow Yellowgrass
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 4' 2'
Species: Hobble (as he calls himself as he is a drunk hobbit at most times or at least tries to be)
Occupation: Unemployed (He's kinda drunk all the time. Of course he will do some sort of freelance work as a mercenary... he doesn't get hired much)
Appearance:
Dark brown hair with a small horrizantle star under his left eye (If you ask him about it he will ignore you and keep talking about various other things)
He has a slim face with toned muscles that are mainly used for hefting a keg out the taverns back door (when he's too drunk to remember he has magic)
Green Eyes
A brown leat
Intoxicated with dismay
Powerful but clumsy
He aims to drown himself
Bottle after bottle
He searches for the right answers
But all seems lost to him
He calls, "Another round"
To find he is cut off
He begs for more of the poison
He needs it, the answer
It must be there, somewhere
He just needs to search more
His arms at now taken from him
A man on either side
He continues to beg
But they do not hear him
He feels the cold air on his face
As he hits the concrete
He feels eyes of others
Watching him and pointing
He struggles to his feet
No longer were they his
But bewitched by poison
He runs the best he can
The poison has full control
Morin looked around him expecting to see his room, but instead saw nothing. Not even the faint outline of objects through night’s dark. No, this was nothing like darkness, this was in fact nothing at all. Pitch black darkness, with nothing left but him and his bed floating in what could be a never ending fall into the abyss of a black hole.
Morin didn't look at the sheets as he peeled them back from his body. Instead the boy felt transfixed on everything around him. The unnatural darkness was like light in which he was a moth that could not turn from the alluring call of a bug zapper. Was this what was happening? Was he dead? The boy s
A (not so) cold December! by ForestoFairies, journal
A (not so) cold December!
Since by Life, with its reality, the horror of my grim tales has been easily overcome ...
the only thing I can do at the end of this year - instead of writing stories - is wishing happy holidays ...
To those who read and carry on ...
To the Vloggers!
~Snusy (https://www.deviantart.com/snusy) [link]:iconTheMorbidMaria: [link]
To the People from the Land of the Snow!
:iconMissPoe::iconMokinzi::iconTheWeakWriter:
To the Vegans & Vegetarians!
:iconmushroomsfaerie::iconravingroshie::iconLilithDunkelheit::iconMelistic:
To Signor Signore
:iconLeevolt:
And...
To All the Watchers come & gone!
:iconTheKrown::iconShining-Scribe::iconnothing-creative::iconTheWea
200 Writing Challenge + 10 Minutes: Making History by JynxedTea, literature
Literature
200 Writing Challenge + 10 Minutes: Making History
Making History
Writing is my way of magic. It creates lands, dreams, creatures, and music come to life. It all flows together as a river does in it's natural way.
The art of writing, however, isn't beautiful in some cases. It can be as harsh as battle, or as pricing as an arrow. It can harm the reader emotionally if you aren't too careful.
I've practiced, getting better at my magic over the years. I write, to create a historic movement in the lives of the lonely, the isolated, and quite. I write to bring joy to the depressed, scared, and even to those who are as happy as can be. I wish to make those already filled with joy, find even more
Hello,
Anybody out there don't here a sound,
Alone,
Don't really know where the world is but I miss it now.
Out on this ledge screaming my name,
At the top of my lungs,
Sometimes I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright,
But it's never enough.
My echo,
Is the only voice coming back,
The shadow,
Is the only thing I have.
Trying to listen,
I'd take just a whisper,
If it's all you have to give,
It isn't,
You could come save me,
Chase this crazy,
Right out from this jumbled head.
Out on this ledge trying to keep my cool,
Screaming my name,
Like a fool,
I close my eyes pretend it's the same,
To know I'm not just your tool,
To feel the warmth of t
The experience was amazing and fun I thought it might hurt a bit but was surprised to find myself holding back laughter the whole time. It was truly an amazing experience. Just had to get my daughters name.