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My Best Friend is a GhostIt was a dare, and I took it. You know how people get when being pressured by their friends, being clucked at like a chicken and calling you a scaredy cat. Well, they were my friends... yup, friends.
It was an old broken down mine shaft. Cliche, I know. It had caved in during a mine blast that went wrong, and many miners were injured. Luckily, no one died... that is, until a young girl was curious enough to explore the ruins. The mine was, and still is, unstable.
The girl's name was Aida, but her last name was never released for unknown reasons. She was ten when she crawled in to look around, hoping to find some little treasures to take home. She was very adventurous. Unfortunately, part of the ceiling fell down and crushed her to death. She wasn't found until a week later when they discovered her footsteps in the mud leading to the mine. Her body was carefully recovered, and there was a closed casket funeral.
Well, years later, stories were made and rumors were spread that Aida still
Jacky's LetterTo the parents and family of Madeline,
My name is Jacky Stiles, and as you have probably guessed, I've killed Maddy. The reason I'm writing this, however, is because I want you to know the truth of what happened that day.
As you know, Maddy was a very happy, carefree girl. In the hours I spent with her, I learned that very quickly. She was friendly, funny, and overall just a great girl. She was just a little scared of me, but otherwise, she spoke to me as if we were just having a normal conversation.
Even after I hurt her the first couple of times, it didn't seem to bother her. I'll admit it frustrated and angered me, and I also found it a little intimidating. She smiled and was so carefree and honest. She never once cried from fear.
But I'm not writing this to tell you what I did to her, I'm writing this because she'd want you to know. She died happy. When I asked her why she was so carefree and unafraid, she said it was because nothing could be done. She knew she couldn't get away, a
The Suicide PhotographerI am a photographer.
People hate my work. You may ask why, but when you see my shots, you'll understand. My work is very controversial. I am sadly proud of my photos, for I may be the only one who's adopted this style.
I capture photos of suicide.
No matter where I go, I carry my camera with me, ready to shoot anything that may happen. There's surprisingly a lot of suicides in this city and the next city over. I've gotten beautiful shots.
The most common ones are those of people jumping from buildings. Of course, there's usually a crowd of people pleading for the person to come down, so I know right away what I am about to get. I stand to get a good perspective, hold up my camera, and snap the photo right as the person plunges to their demise. I take a couple one after the other so I make sure to get the perfect shot. People surrounding me shout at me and call me heartless.
On the contrary, I am more caring than them. That person wanted to end their life, so they had a perfect reason t
My Tall and Skinny Friend
I have a friend. He's pretty impressive, I show him off all the time. People must be super jealous though, cause they either run away screaming or faint.
My friend is much taller than me and very skinny. I tell him I envy him because I have to be careful to keep my weight where I want it. He's always dressed so nicely too! In a black suit and tie, he always looks like he's going to a business meeting.
It's very hard to tell how my friend is feeling because... well, this may sound weird but... he has no facial features. His skin is snow white and just has a... completely blank face. He has no mouth either, so he can't talk. He usually just writes me messy little notes.
He's a weird dude, obviously. But he's super fun. He can duplicate his arms as much as he wants, and they can also stretch far distances. He can also change his height, but he never goes below eight feet. I don't think he's able to.
He keeps to himself when it comes to personal stuff. I tried to ask him wher
I Lost My GlassesI lost my glasses.
I thought I left them on the table, but I checked and nothing was there except something sharp. I have terrible vision; everything is so blurry, I can't make out shapes.
I move through the house, feeling around. My wife must be painting the walls. I see dark shapes on them, and they're wet to the touch. It's so quiet it the house...
I step on something wet and squishy. I really wish the kids would not bring the pool toys in the house.
I look in the kids' bedroom and say, "girls, have you seen my glasses?" No response, but I can see a lump under each of their blankets. They must be sleeping.
I check the bathroom, but the lightbulb went out. I feel around, and my hand touches the counter. I hate it when the kids splash water all over the place. It's thicker though... soap?
I go into the bedroom and see my wife standing near the window. Of course I could only see her blurry shape cause of my terrible eyesight. I'm getting old.
"Hunny, have you seen my glasses?" She didn
A Best FriendA good friend will be there for you when you cry.
A best friend will be there crying with you.
A good friend will keep your secret if you murder someone.
A best friend will have been your accomplice.
A good friend will let you commit suicide.
A best friend will be holding your hand as they jump in front of a train with you.
A good friend will mourn for you if you die before them.
A best friend will follow you.
A good friend will be at your execution to say goodbye.
A best friend will be in a second electric chair right next to you.
A good friend will say it's not a good idea to throw that explosive into the powerplant that's destroying natural habitat.
A best friend will count down to three, giving you the signal to throw it.
A good friend will ignore the fact that you kidnapped someone to torture.
A best friend will provide the chloroform.
A good friend will yell at your ex for breaking up with you.
A best friend will murder them
Autobiography of Slender ManHiya there! You should all know me by now. If you don't, I should like totally slap you. My name is Slender Man! That's right-o, Slendy in the hizzow! I can't actually talk, so I'm writing this on a bunch of notes. You won't hafta look hard cause... they're gonna be all taped to your house. So what do I do for a livivng? Scaring the shiznit outta y'all! HAYO!! But, I do have a personal life other than the pranks. I have friends, whom you know as well. I have to keep a notepad and pencil on hand to communicate, but s'all gewd in da hood, yo.
My bestest bro in the whole wide 3rd dimension is my home boy, Jeff. That's right! Da KILLAH! Jeffy's fun to hang around cause he's always so happy! He has to carry eyedrops in his pocket though cause, since he has no eyelids, his eyeballz keep drying up. He said it was worth the sacrifice though.
One of Jeff's biggest gear grinders is the supposed "Jane the Killer." He's all like, "I dunno what da fuck peeps be talkin about, I don't know dat bitch.
My Last RideI've looked forward to this day since the ride opened. I've always loved roller coasters, but I'm afraid of heights, so I never went on the ones with loops. I slowly started riding bigger coasters and... well, when this opened, I knew it was time.
It's the biggest roller coaster in the world, and this is the only park it's been built at. I had to travel from the United States to the United Kingdom, and it took all my life savings, but... I won't be needing that money anymore. I told myself I'd ride this coaster without second thought, no matter what the cost.
It's not for everybody. In fact, many are horrified by it. Hell, when I saw the scale model of it, my heart leapt into my throat and was struck by excitement and fear. I never thought it'd be built in my lifetime... it's time to face many things; my fear of heights, my fear of loops, and most of all... it's time to face death.
The Euthanasia Coaster begins with a 1600 top, and the ride up is extremely steep. It's so steep, you'd f
DermatillomaniaI want to be perfect. I just want to be perfect. But so much is getting in my way... I hate my ugly body. This horrible skin with all of its imperfections. It's driving me mad.
I look in the mirror and see a blemish on my cheek. It's not quite ready to go yet, but I feel it! I feel it! It's there, and I don't want it to be. I want it gone.
I push at it, trying to get the defect out, but it won't surface. All I managed to accomplish was two deep nail marks in my face. I get frustrated and I scratch at it, trying to get the skin off to open the pore. It bleeds a little bit. I try squeezing again, but nothing. The nail marks break the skin slightly.
I grab a sewing needle. They say not to do this, but I'm desperate. I try to gently tear open the blemish. I really don't want to scar my face, so I have to be careful. But even after that, it won't come out! I scratch vigorously at it until there's a large, bleeding scrape on my cheek. I don't pay much attention to that, for I see the
your name has a familiar tasteunder the moth-like hum of a lamppost,
your lips molded around hers like a cast
mending a broken wrist.
i stood motionless and watched
as her figure became shapeless,
conforming to your crevices and
letting your hands glide over it
like sudden rain clouds.
as i choked in the outskirts of your paradise,
i couldn't help but wonder if we, too,
looked this way before sickening ourselves.
as we multiplied in fractions and 2 became 1,
did the crunch of the leaves
beneath our backs realize the magic?
your teeth imprisoning my tongue for never too long,
my fingers shaping themselves to the curve of your neck.
our gentle caress disintegrated
like a thunderstorm to a campfire
to solemn ashes and broken twigs.
i first sensed your absence when i knelt in prayer
and your taste was not on the tip of my tongue. from
then on, i ritualized purging myself of every memory.
2 months later and you are still not ridden from me.
regardless of all this mess, your touch is still the epitome of content.
Dream WeaverSplotches of color and light ebb from her fingers, painting the air around her with impossible horrors and wonderful happenings
Pictures fragment and shatter only to dance across the air and be born anew, into something unknown and wonderful, something terrible and frightening
Scenes of long sense past are now brought to the surface, to be remembered and enjoyed, to be contorted and feared
Wants and hopes made into reality, painted amongst the darkness of night, in a canvas of joy and warmth
Terrors and phobias paraded before all to see, raining down acid colors, to burn and taint the dreams of all
Feel the wind rush across your skin, giving rise to cold chills across your flesh as your wings a black sheath pierce through the clouds high above
Feel your wings burn, feel feathers disintegrate, ligaments pop, bones explode as you plummet to earth, your screams tore from your very lips by the unforgiving flame reaching its white hot fingers down your throat
Rule over a peaceful kingdom, g
Abidethi will not write you
into a seraph,
nor mend your
nor nurse your
raw pock-pitted tongue
do not wear your
on your wrists
have never been
one of the damned
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
the lump in my throat isn't always a poema man with a scruffy beard and ice-blue eyes once told me:
when we love, we get angry when we are not loved the same way.
i wonder if he saw the hint of indignation,
the fragments of promises still swimming in my irises.
i want him to know that my smile still stutters across sentences,
that even though i haven't broken yet, i'm pretty damn close.
i want to ask him:
if an avalanche occurs when no one is looking,
will there still be a feeling of panic?
what happens to the leaves on apple trees?
if the piano is out of tune,
why do we bother dancing in the first place?
there is this lump in my throat that has not yet translated into a poem.
i think it's stuck there for good.
the human body cannot discard vitalities;
it is not designed to expel emotional things.
as he undressed me for the third time that night,
i tried to imagine what the moon tasted like.
my tongue kept clawing its way to the back of my mouth.
i enjoyed it too much.
now, his hands find themselves curled i
and we'll rotoh, poet boy,
you are not
or honey bones
& you have only
ever been a god
inside of your own head
does she know the astrological significance
of the bruises starring along
your wrists? if I could, I’d
run away somewhere where
the sky is silent and the people
hate honest eyes. here’s my problem,
I’ve wasted all my time daydreaming
in the universe of your scars. I wonder
if substantiality is lethal.
[when will you move on
like you know what
you’re doing with your life,
like this tiny existential
failure is only a hazard sign
on the roadmap of your journey,
like the world weighing down
upon your shoulders is an
exercise in vanity and quietude
instead of someone
lists of necessities: methods of
starvation, hours to fall asleep by, sharp
objects, words that mean nothing.
I’m sorry this isn’t better. I’m sorry
I’m not better and I’m sorry
nothing is bright anymore.
things you remind me of:
the november sky
right before it rains.
Simon SaysSimon says hop on one foot.
Simon says wave both hands above your head.
Touch your nose.
Oop, I didn't Simon says! Okay, let's try again.
Simon says take one step forward.
Simon says jump three times.
I didn't say Simon says!
Okay, Simon says to crouch down.
Simon says jump back up.
Simon says take a step to your right.
Simon says go "woo! woo! woo!
Simon says act like a chicken.
*sigh* Tsk tsk tsk. I didn't say Simon says!
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