I need to make it longer, but I'm pleased with it for the time being.


A poem.I'm out of syrup, but there's still enough left on my hands to drown me.A poem.


Story from NothingA particularly depressing wind blows down from the hills. The grass waves against it, as if to cry from the depressing nature of said wind. The grass does not appear depressed , it looks bright green and happy. And it will soon be cut by a lawnmower, and if it were depressed, it would use a razor blade. So for now, the grass smiles its bright green smile on the outside, but cries on the inside. The wind is the victim of no such misconception, as the wind is very hard to see. Most people do not even look at it when it is there, making it even more depressed. Being ignored is always a depressing thing, whether the victim is a meteoroStory from Nothing


Rules of Great Literature1. I am a writer. It doesn’t matter what I write (unless it’s genre fiction, in that case I am a deluded fool that needs to be re-educated) or even the quality of said writings; by virtue of being in the company of other writers, I am a writer. Do not dare tell me otherwise. After all, writer’s egos are notoriously fragile (comes from wallowing in all that angst) and we mustn’t discourage the next Great Author of our time from gaining greater perspective of human nature by hanging around with others who are equally disconnected with reality (except when writing poetry about their ex).Rules of Great Literature
2. All Great
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