With this new story, I wanna write a horror story.
It's called Imaginary:
Sierra, a young six سال old from Ocean Gate, New Jersey, dies from a car accident and a broken skull. Meanwhile, Molly, from Bayville, gets a new friend. Her name is Sierra.
As Molly's parents notice their daughter acting strange, they start to worry. She always asks to set the میز, جدول for an extra person, and she always talks to herself in her room.
Sierra is being fueled سے طرف کی something that's in their house, and she's feeding supernaturally off of Molly's body, and strange things start to happen in the house.
Anonymous laughing, horrifying screams, eerie whispering, problems with the power, and worse. Molly gets weaker.
On this supernatural journey, Molly's parents will try to fight something that's beyond them, whatever it takes to save their daughter's life.
In loving memory of Sierra, a childhood friend. I still miss you, and I know your brother does, too!
It's called Imaginary:
Sierra, a young six سال old from Ocean Gate, New Jersey, dies from a car accident and a broken skull. Meanwhile, Molly, from Bayville, gets a new friend. Her name is Sierra.
As Molly's parents notice their daughter acting strange, they start to worry. She always asks to set the میز, جدول for an extra person, and she always talks to herself in her room.
Sierra is being fueled سے طرف کی something that's in their house, and she's feeding supernaturally off of Molly's body, and strange things start to happen in the house.
Anonymous laughing, horrifying screams, eerie whispering, problems with the power, and worse. Molly gets weaker.
On this supernatural journey, Molly's parents will try to fight something that's beyond them, whatever it takes to save their daughter's life.
In loving memory of Sierra, a childhood friend. I still miss you, and I know your brother does, too!
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Tick, tick, tick
That sound, constant in my head,
A sound that haunts every mind,
A sound that brings fear,
A clock,
Ticking the سیکنڈ of your life away,
Making life shorter and shorter with every tick,
Drawing death nearer and nearer,
But آپ should not live in fear,
For life is too short for such a thing,
Some people waste these precious seconds,
Others treasure them, making sure that no tick is wasted,
The clock ticks on,
But as this sound is registered,
What do آپ do?
Tick, tick, tick
Three مزید seconds, gone, like that,
Did آپ use them well?
Live life,
For life is too short to spend these سیکنڈ in hell.
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Tick, tick, tick
That sound, constant in my head,
A sound that haunts every mind,
A sound that brings fear,
A clock,
Ticking the سیکنڈ of your life away,
Making life shorter and shorter with every tick,
Drawing death nearer and nearer,
But آپ should not live in fear,
For life is too short for such a thing,
Some people waste these precious seconds,
Others treasure them, making sure that no tick is wasted,
The clock ticks on,
But as this sound is registered,
What do آپ do?
Tick, tick, tick
Three مزید seconds, gone, like that,
Did آپ use them well?
Live life,
For life is too short to spend these سیکنڈ in hell.
His Melody
To quiet the tears
She sings him to sleep
When the morning has dawned
He can’t be roused from a rest so deep
She sings him to sleep
Night after night
And when he does not awaken
Her will to go on grows slight
She sits and waits while he’s away
She remembers his laugh and smile
Oh what a joy to see his joy
She lifts up a prayer “May I see him in a short while?”
She sits at the window and waits
The sun sets slowly behind the ہل, لندن
The others say hello but she doesn’t hear
She is waiting to make the tears still
The time has come she cannot wait
She sets out to see her boy
To stop the tears
To bring him joy
But the tears she stills are not his
They fall from her eyes
She sings his lullaby again tonight
As she kisses the stone and her son good bye
To quiet the tears
She sings him to sleep
When the morning has dawned
He can’t be roused from a rest so deep
She sings him to sleep
Night after night
And when he does not awaken
Her will to go on grows slight
She sits and waits while he’s away
She remembers his laugh and smile
Oh what a joy to see his joy
She lifts up a prayer “May I see him in a short while?”
She sits at the window and waits
The sun sets slowly behind the ہل, لندن
The others say hello but she doesn’t hear
She is waiting to make the tears still
The time has come she cannot wait
She sets out to see her boy
To stop the tears
To bring him joy
But the tears she stills are not his
They fall from her eyes
She sings his lullaby again tonight
As she kisses the stone and her son good bye
Dear record of my misfortune I was correct. Today I walked into class and saw a huge pile of letters on my desk. When I opened them I realized that it was hate mail. It was so stupid, people were getting angry at me for what I did to Jessica when it was her fault! They were saying things like : Die Emo کتیا, کتيا die, bitchy whore. That last تبصرہ doesn't even apply to me! I haven't even had my first kiss and they are saying this stuff to me! There was one letter that was bot mean even though I don't know who sent it. Inside it کہا roses are red violets are blue I don't now why they hurt you, if آپ want I'll tell them to can it, all because I love آپ Janet. I don't know who wrote آپ love poem rhyme thing but I love آپ too!
Is It True آپ Lie?
Is It True آپ Hate Me?
Is It True آپ Want Him?
Is It True You're My Best Friend?
Is It True آپ Enjoy Hurting Me?
Is It True آپ Like Me Crying?
Is It True آپ Talk Behind My Back?
Is It True آپ Tell People Our Bussiness?
Is It True I Hurt You?
Is It True آپ Back Stabbed Me?
Is It True آپ Let Me Believe The Lies?
Is It True آپ Let Me Call آپ My True Bestfriend When آپ Weren't?
Is It True.....?
This is A Poem Hope Yuh Enjoy It Btw Tell Me What Yuh Think And This Is Just About Me Gettin Hurt After Being Stupid Enough To Believe Her Lies She Wasnt A True Bestfriend
Is It True آپ Hate Me?
Is It True آپ Want Him?
Is It True You're My Best Friend?
Is It True آپ Enjoy Hurting Me?
Is It True آپ Like Me Crying?
Is It True آپ Talk Behind My Back?
Is It True آپ Tell People Our Bussiness?
Is It True I Hurt You?
Is It True آپ Back Stabbed Me?
Is It True آپ Let Me Believe The Lies?
Is It True آپ Let Me Call آپ My True Bestfriend When آپ Weren't?
Is It True.....?
This is A Poem Hope Yuh Enjoy It Btw Tell Me What Yuh Think And This Is Just About Me Gettin Hurt After Being Stupid Enough To Believe Her Lies She Wasnt A True Bestfriend
Her eyes were آگ کے, آگ red,
as if they were
lit from anger.
I dont understand
why آپ are
mad at me.
Why آپ shoot
those harsh words
at me.
Aimed like bullets,
piercing my soul.
And It cant heal.
I never can dodge them.
The words hit me,
and I fall back.
My دوستوں ask me:
"What's wrong?"
"Can I help?"
But they cant help.
Because I dont understand,
why آپ are mad.
Why do آپ have to do
what آپ do to me?
Why does it give آپ
joy to harm me?
Why?
Why are people bullies?
Why dont my دوستوں take action?
Why cant آپ tell me WHY?
as if they were
lit from anger.
I dont understand
why آپ are
mad at me.
Why آپ shoot
those harsh words
at me.
Aimed like bullets,
piercing my soul.
And It cant heal.
I never can dodge them.
The words hit me,
and I fall back.
My دوستوں ask me:
"What's wrong?"
"Can I help?"
But they cant help.
Because I dont understand,
why آپ are mad.
Why do آپ have to do
what آپ do to me?
Why does it give آپ
joy to harm me?
Why?
Why are people bullies?
Why dont my دوستوں take action?
Why cant آپ tell me WHY?
Streetlamps, houses, gates, remotes, books, CDs and televisions. Brothers. Pairs. Each has a twin. In this chaotic place of materials the world has come to be, everything has a brother. But brothers are family. And family is connected somehow; if not سے طرف کی blood, then سے طرف کی what?
Energy.
Look hard. At everything that has a brother. A line of energy casts a connection between the two. The energy, with its harsh glares and cold looks creates the strongest and most complex bonds. Strong because of their brotherhood. Complex because of its invisibility. For there is power in invisibility. Cold, cruel power. The power to be a persecutor with no chance of being a victim. The power to twist and squeeze but not feel the wrenching pain of your twists.
Now, آپ ask, what is left? Cruel, invisible energy. For a cruel, invisible world.
This is my first time writing in stream of consciousness. I know it's short but don't judge me too harshly.
Energy.
Look hard. At everything that has a brother. A line of energy casts a connection between the two. The energy, with its harsh glares and cold looks creates the strongest and most complex bonds. Strong because of their brotherhood. Complex because of its invisibility. For there is power in invisibility. Cold, cruel power. The power to be a persecutor with no chance of being a victim. The power to twist and squeeze but not feel the wrenching pain of your twists.
Now, آپ ask, what is left? Cruel, invisible energy. For a cruel, invisible world.
This is my first time writing in stream of consciousness. I know it's short but don't judge me too harshly.
