Wanna kill yourself? Imagine this.
You come home from school one day. You've had yet another horrible day. You're just ready to give up. So you go to your room, close the door, and take out that suicide note you've written and rewritten over and over and over You take out those razor blades, and cut for the very last time. You grab that bottle of pills and take them all. Laying down, holding the letter to your chest, you close your eyes for the very last time.
A few hours later, your little brother knocks on your door to come tell you dinners ready. You don't answer, so he walks in. All he sees is you laying on your bed, so he thinks you're
amidst the blooming flowers
of the morning
sat a boy with star struck eyes
something glimmered in his palm
a feeble glow
of something bigger than his world
he lifted it to the grey skies above
and up it rose
to scatter the clouds with rain
Being high is one of the most pleasant sensations. Every day is Saturday. It is to be like a child; to perceive events with clarity; to look into the gates of paradise; to completely enjoy whatever you might be doing; to smile so hard that your jaw muscles get tired. Being high is to laugh at the silliest things; to understand things that have seemed absurd before; to have the aloofness of a cat; to afford a kinship with god. To be intoxicated with marijuana makes every superlative seem within your grasp. Being high makes life seem terribly good. Being high is simply grand.
If I hugged you,
would you never let go?
If I kissed you,
would you cherish that moment?
If I reached for your hand,
would you take mine gently?
If I needed a shoulder,
would you let me cry on yours?
If I needed to talk,
would you really listen?
If I needed to scream,
would you do it with me?
If I needed to go,
would you come with me?
If I fell for you,
would you catch me?
or just let me hit the pavement?
'In fear I hurried this way and that. I had the taste of blood and chocolate in my mouth, the one as hateful as the other'
---Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
"Vivian Gandillion relishes the change, the sweet, feirce ache that carries her from girl to wolf. At sixteen, she is beautiful and strong, and all the young wolves howl for her. But Vivian still grieves for her dead father; her pack is in disarray, and she feels lonely and lost. She longs for a normal life. But what is normal for a warewolf?
Then Vivian falls in love with a human, a meat-boy. Aiden is kind and gentle, a welcome relief from the squabbli
As the moon peaks over the highest mountain afar
Its captivating silver light shines on my pale skin
I can feel its pull and hear its call
Allowing me to stand among the wild souls of the forest
Staring up towards the beautiful bright orb
My heart races and goose bumps form on my body
I feel strange, excited, and more alive
Without warning, my inner soul begins to emerge
Escaping this dry, pale cage that I call my human body
My bones stretch and reform under the light of the moon
Making my limbs more powerful and stronger than before
Nails lengthen and become claws, teeth grow and become fangs
A never-ending field of fur grows, co