PsychoDagger

On this blank paper, I form my first words-- Try to make sense of the verse that follows; Rhythm and beauty are no friends of mine. Poetry is fun! Of this I'm assured. Old techniques are so simple to borrow! On this white paper, I form my next words. Me, a poet? The thought never occurred: When I have to write, my mind feels hollow; Creativity is no friend of mine. Though harder compositions I've endured, Simple poetry fills me with sorrow; On this curs'd paper, I form my next words. It's getting late and my eyes start to blur-- If I had my way, I'd write this t'morrow; Punctuality is no friend of mine. I read what I write, but

Wake up Pale golden sunlight streams through the window flooding the room, corrupting every dark corner groping my body, making me thrash and writhe Like a virus, it invades me, delving into my flesh Like a new layer of skin, it enfolds me, enveloping every inch, suffocating me It covers my eyes, and suddenly -- Everything seems dead Everyone is living in fog moving through molasses A bright, sunny fog A transparent molasses The sunlight carries with it the stale taste of unreality I roll over in bed, pulling the consecrated blanket around me, protecting myself from the harsh rays of unholy light I'm not prepared to face the

Delicate rain released from the hostile night sky twinkled in the glow from the streetlights. Concealed partially by a lamppost stood a girl of seventeen, seemingly unconcerned with the ice-cold rainfall. She gazed down the street with an empty look in her eyes. With her left hand she grasped the hilt of her timeworn dagger, and her right hand nonchalantly held a lit cigarette from which she occasionally took a drag. The glare of the streetlight illuminated her, accentuating her presence in the otherwise vacant street. She stood motionless as the night around her whispered secrets to itself. A loud crash in a nearby alley didn't phase her at

A woman sits in her hotel room, talking on the phone. She cannot help but overhear a great commotion outside her window. However, she completely ignores it. Ouy(it's meant to be)tside her window, the gracious dolphins were swinging through the air. They quickly realized that they are a sea-dwelling animal, and as such, flopped into the sea below. (By the way, yu76y7u6 (Yes it's important).) The glorious commotion, and you may be asking how is it glorious? But nevertheless, it = was (was is an adjective, not a verb) was in fact their rendition of that hit Broadway classic "So Long and Thanks for all the Banana Phones" ... Inside these flam

It was nearly three o' clock in the morning. The girl lay asleep in bed with a peaceful look on her face. All was perfectly still and quiet, and darkness surrounded everything. Her breathing was slow, steady, and light; and although her lips hung very slightly apart, no sound escaped them. There was no movement from any part of her body besides the slight rise and fall of her chest. Suddenly, the girl's eyelids shot open. There was no change in her level breathing, and a distinctly serene look filled her eyes. She slowly rose into a sitting position. Her hollow stare penetrated the darkness, and she subconsciously licked her lips before gent