Wryter

I am the summer wind I am Puck, your fairy friend I am the sunlight in the leaves I am the place where all dreams end. Come dance with me, and whisper my words Words of creation, of youth, of life. The world is yet young, to my reckoning, at least. Tomorrow is far away; yesterday never was. Feel with me, breathe with me Ride me as I ride you – our proverbial leap-frog of laughter. Be not my master, and I’ll not be yours. Drink of me, eat of me Don’t worry, take your fill. I am plenty to share, and enjoy sharing myself with you. Sing to me, sleep with me Touch softly your hand to mine Watch the world grow soft

He feels his father’s hand, oh so cold! clearly on his cheek. It keeps coming. He knows it isn’t his father’s fault- the bottle swinging from a hand made him this way. And the eviction notice on the door put the bottle in his hand. It doesn’t stop the hand. She hears her mother’s words, oh so bold! clearly in her head. She knows her mother sees the tears, and knows her mother isn’t to blame. Sure, mom won’t let her girlfriend in the house, but that’s not mom’s fault, and she knows it. She sees the fear, the quiet panic, running behind mom’s eyes, the terror someone may find out

I was walking along today, you know, how everyone just randomly walks along with no purpose? All the time, I'm sure. Anyways, I was walking along, and saw something- a puzzle piece. It looked so sad, floating there in the puddle of a rain long past. Soggy. Alone. Forlorn. As chance would have it, it was outside a toy shop. In the window, under a warm glow, a puzzle sat, each piece fitting perfectly with those next to it. Complete. Resplendent. Content. I watched that puzzle piece float for a minute, ruminating on it. Then I went back on my way, wandering through the world.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November; the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should e'er be forgot. Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, in wisdom bold called 'pon a tradition millennia old with powder and flame proclaiming distaste laying the Parliament halls to waste. A country in need, a State indeed, unable to change, unwilling to bleed, hung by the neck 'fore the world's eyes the citizen whom it should most prize. A seed was planted, a crack appeared realising all the mighty State feared. Revolution was planted in the citizen's heart- the hanging of Fawkes provided the start.

Mr. Charming sat alone and threw his crown away, royalty discarded all because of one day. He could smile in his sleep forevermore, but his head just kept on saying "That ain't what dreaming is for." Sleeping Beauty slept away in a far away place, Mr. Charming couldn't find her- you could tell by his face. His trusty steed, it was in need, he couldn't go because his fairy tale wasn't all he thought that it was. Simple explanations kept him moving through life, hopes and dreams and courage helped him search for his wife. Trouble seemed to loom, courage started to fail Mr. Charming watched his hopes and dreams derail. He fought hims

I am alone. I learned what that meant today, for the first time. Felt the weight of that realization push down on me, pressing my nose to the dirt. It has nothing to do with who is around you; I can deal with being left by myself. I am not such an asshole that I cannot stand my own company. Rather, loneliness is a scenario. You are alone when you don't belong. You are alone when there are thousands around you, interacting, but you are unwanted, intruding. You are alone when nobody will catch you when you fall, as you inevitably will. You are alone when all you hold dear is held out of reach.

The kiss of metal the touch of death the beatless heart the lack of breath Bloodless brain lifeless eyes this is how the body dies Broken dreams trampled hope broken spirit hung with rope Kill the hope before his eyes this is how the dreamer dies Painful thoughts and empty mind Useless brain no truth to find Kill the spark behind his eyes this is how the thinker dies A bleeding soul a broken heart life in pieces torn apart Put the tears back in his eyes this is how the lover dies A broken heart a trampled hope a hopeless love no way to cope In his hand the pen that lied this is how the author died

There will be a day. There will be a day, when we can smile, and we can laugh, and nobody will intrude. There will be a day, when we can be close, and can be touching, and nobody will care. There will be a day, when we can wrestle, and we can play, and nobody will stare. There will be a day, when I can love you, and you can love me, and nothing else will matter. There will be a day. I promise.

A single teardrop falls, fat, crystalline, perfect. Time stops, frozen completely. A single tear, so small yet so infinte. Within it, a reflection of the universe. I can see it all; the people who would as long as they could, see us separate. Those who are threatened, Those who would threaten, Those who are frightened, Those who would frighten. And I see you. I see your smile. It expands to fill the tear, infectious and contagious. The moment passes. The tear falls, and shatters on the ground. But the smile lingers.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it..." I turned and looked at him. "Excuse me?" I turned and stared at him. Blond, gelled hair, dress shirt, and a broad smile. Kinda cute, in that superficial way only a certain breed of people can master. He blushed when he noticed my stare, and his grin died a little, winding up as a small, embarrassed grin. "Sorry, had Sweeney Todd stuck in my head. And Lord knows, the only way to get rid of a good song stuck in your head is to sing it." Oh, great, he had a lisp. "... But in study hall?" "Well,