crazy-writer-101

[crazy-writer-101]

Stories

They'll lightly move their pen across the glowing paper that went on for miles. Looking fondly at their work, they set down the pen to which the paper darkened. They lifted scissors sharper than anyone can ever imagine, and cut directly beneath where they finished writing. The paper darkened even more before losing all of its glow. Quickly they lifted the dark paper and rolled it up before slipping it into a glass cylinder. They tightly closed the lid on the jar and set it inside a mailing box, ready to be shipped to the grand library where the stories will rest for eternity. They took up their pen again and began writing a new story on the infinite paper they had cut the previous story from. The author was everywhere and nowhere all at once. They wrote millions of stories all at the same time. They wrote those stories into different timelines by either changing the smallest detail or a large one. They were in control of every story of every person in every universe. The thing about the author that differed in him from normal authors was the way they wrote. Normally stories are carefully thought out before the writing of the actual story begins. But with the author, they came up with everything as their pen moved across the paper. Fate came to him as he never stopped writing. Their arms are sore from the unbearable pain of pressure and stress when they rarely put their pen down. Every single story comes from them. Everything you could ever imagine was written by the author. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another story done, more pain shoots through my arm, a headache emerges from the millions of stories in progress, and never a lunch break. Not that I need one since I don't eat, but it would be nice to take a break. My arm feels numb as I cut the end of someone's story from the timeline. Death sets into the paper as I roll it carefully into the glass jar. Before I could let out a simple sigh, my pen was back in my hand and writing for another five decades. Literally. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A normal school day. Nothing new. Finals breach as the semester comes to an end. My parents' voices echoing in my head as I study excessively. The gut-eating worrying if my friends hate me or not. Society's head peeking over my shoulder, watching everything I do. Thinking about whether I deserve a life like mine. The constant pressure to get good grades and do something with my life has tugged at my mind enough. My head stopped pounding and stress is no longer here. It's like I'm at peace except it didn't come from taking a break and meditating, just another way. Let's just say I worked my mind to the point it's numb and the only thing I feel is the guilt pulling my heart as I realize I don't care. I've reached the point where I don't look left or right anymore. The point where I don't run up the stairs after turning off the lights. The point where I stopped wearing a seatbelt. The point where I stay underwater a little longer than usual. The point where I don't care what happens to me. This feeling should be something to worry about, but I don't care. When I was a kid, I dreamed of getting married and having six children. Now my children will never be born and my future husband will have to find someone else. It's funny to think about falling in love. Maybe that's what I need; to feel cared about. Loved. I let out a dry chuckle to myself as I move the spoon around my cereal. That's a silly thought. How do you love someone so unlovable? Impossible. I take a bite and chew. A normal task, but it feels like eternity in the silence of the dark kitchen. Six PM on a Wednesday. Seven people lived in this house and only one ate dinner in the kitchen. At this point, a family like mine would never care for me nor each other. They have their own problems to worry about and don't have time to deal with my silly sixteen-year-old problems. Not that I want them to. I just wished someone cared. Maybe if someone was actually paying attention instead of lying when they said they did, I wouldn't be so tired. But it's too late, because my tears have dried out and my head is empty. They'll tell me it will get better, but a life like mine can never get better. Once I slip, I'll continue to fall down the never ending slope of burdened curses. That's the thing, it won't get better and my life has gone downhill. Everything in my life is falling apart and maybe I should care, but I don't. I haven't for a while. Everyday is the same and although it probably isn't, it is for me, because those big things that do happen don't have a big impact on my day to day life. I'll wake up tomorrow the same way I woke up today and yesterday. I'll continue my life as any other day. At this point, life isn't the right word to describe what I live. But I have no idea what to call it. 

Even though I don't have the guts to end the unbearing cycle myself, my tears pour as I beg to whoever is up there to take me away. I'm afraid if I do it myself, my burden of sorrows will spread like a disease around the people I know. If I go naturally, then maybe the sadness will be less gut-wrenching. 

"Please!" I pleaded to myself, "Whoever is writing my story, just put the pen down." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please! Whoever is writing my story, just put the pen down. The girl begged as tears poured down her cheeks rapidly. My heart felt a million times heavier. And for a second, I hesitated. Her story up to this point has been written like hell. My pen stopped writing for a moment when I hesitated about continuing her story. It gets better. I whispered softly as I continued writing. Her suffering will pay off. It has to. Although I'm not too sure where her story leads from here, I know she'll live. She'll marry her husband and have six children. She'll reconnect with her family and fix her friendships. Her life will get better no matter what she'll say. No matter how hard life pushes her to the ground, she'll stand up even if her legs are a bit off balance. I will make sure she doesn't give up, because too many stories have ended with my pen being forced off the paper. She'll be okay, even if it seems no one cares for her, I do. I care for her story. And I'll write it down with her happy ending.

[crazy-writer-101]

[crazy-writer-101]

Restart

"Trial failed." 

The program screamed through the small control room. My ears felt like they were going to bleed everytime it did that. I pressed several buttons and then reversed the subject back to his origin point. Letting out a sigh of frustration, I pressed the restart button. 

"That's weird," the boy muttered. His best friend looked at him and already knew what he was talking about. 

"More déjà vu?" She questioned as she looked at her watch and then at the traffic light, waiting for the signal to walk. 

“Yeah,” he responded. A familiar funny feeling ran through his body that he shook off as normal. He tried to focus and get his mind off the odd thought. Cars speeded by them in hopes of getting to work on time. Him and his best friend were walking to school in a hurry because his friend hated being late. But they already were. 

As soon as the light changed, his friend tugged on his sleeve to follow her across the sidewalk and he couldn’t help but feel that odd feeling even stronger. 

“Wait!” He yelled as he gripped his friend’s arm and froze his feet to the ground like stone. He pulled her back to the sidewalk just as a large pick-up truck ran the red light. 

The two stood, frozen and breathing heavy as they processed what happened. 

After a moment of silence, his friend turned to him, wide-eyed and jaw dropped. 

“You saved my life!” She exclaimed as she shook his arm. He looked at her, his heart still pounding and the sense of déjà vu vanished with his shock. He hugged her tight and long in fear of losing her. 

Not again. 

I let out a sigh of relief.

He survived. So did she. 

The last three trials failed. Each time the subject sacrificed himself for the girl not to get hurt. Finally, the last test succeeded. I recorded the results of the event into the subject’s profile journal and relaxed for a mere second before the alarm went off again. 

The boy had made another mistake and got hurt. I restarted his origin point and watched. After a few tries, he finally got by. 

It felt awful. I felt awful. I watch over this boy’s life and each time he dies, I pass it as ‘normal’ and it makes me sick. I got so used to him dying and being revived that it makes me feel that the last bit of my humanity left in me has faded with the rest of my knowledge from the world. Once, I had told the Head Operator how disgusting it was and he brushed it off by telling me ‘it’s the only way’. He was the creator of all this yet he can’t change these awful ways? 

I rested my head in my arms and took deep breaths to try and clear my mind, but I failed when the alarm went off again. I lifted my head and turned to my controls that glowed a sick gray. 

That wasn’t right. 

The controls usually glowed white not gray. Here they were as if a storm might burst from them. I tapped the replay button, but nothing happened. I searched the control for the multidimensional breaker and tried to move it but it didn’t budge. Then I used the emergency subject shutdown button, but like the rest of the controls, it didn’t work. I glanced at the screen and it was dark. I could barely make out any shapes. I soon figured it out. 

He was hiding underneath a desk. 

His arms shook around his legs as silent tears fell from his terrified eyes. 

His best friend was nowhere to be seen. 

Only crimson replaced where she would be. 

What was happening? 

I rushed to emergency management to tell them what was going on. Turns out, other guardians were there to talk to them too. 

My controls are dark. 

My kid isn’t responding. 

Where is she? 

He’s hurt. I need to help him. 

This can’t be happening again. 

A large blaring alarm and red lights silenced the crowd. The Head Operator entered the room with a stern yet sad expression. His eyes were softer than usual and that initiated to everyone that something was wrong. 

“Listen, guardians,” his voice echoed throughout the large arena, “We are in Operation Survival. The children will have to survive without their guardians-” 

“What the hell? This is our job! We are supposed to protect them! All the time!” A guardian yelled while many others shouted in agreement. 

“I know,” the operator continued, “but we can’t always protect them from the world. They’ll have to learn to survive on their own.” 

“This isn’t the way to do it!” Another guardian announced. More to agree with him. 

“There is nothing we can do about it, but only wait to see if your subject survives. Please find your way back to your labs and do so.” 

He was wrong. There was something we could do. He just won’t. 

Luckily we would. 

The rest of us made it back to our labs with one goal in mind; We’re going to protect our subjects. Our kids. No matter what. 

We grabbed our gear and made our way back down to Earth. Divine guardians aren’t supposed to make contact with humans for what will happen to them when they do. The terrible sounds that escaped the school burned into not only our souls but the kids’ too. Piercing screams and gut-punching pops. It was clear whoever put this upon our kids didn’t realize the consequences of their actions. 

[crazy-writer-101]

Waiting

I don't know if anyone really knows how much I want to be loved. 

How much I want to be hugged and kissed. 

How much I want someone to look at me and be happy. 

How much I want to be there for someone because they trust me. 

How much I want someone to choose me. 

How much I want to be someone’s first choice. 

No one has any idea how much I want to be wanted. 

I want someone to feel that empty void in my heart that keeps whispering; 

No one will ever love you. 

And it’s funny how I believe it. 

Even funnier how much I want to prove it wrong. 

I don’t know how long writing poems will substitute for that feeling. 

How many poems will I write before it stops tricking my heart into feeling love? 

When will the poems stop the false feeling of comfort? 

The comfort I wish for? 

When will my heart figure out that there isn’t really anyone who would choose me in a room of every person they know?

When will my heart figure out that there isn’t anyone who will actually choose me?  

Never a first choice

My heart whispers in the back of my head everytime my hopes get too high. 

Sometimes I get too high, 

and it gets hard to breathe. 

I’ll fall back to the ground, away from false realities, 

because my heart seems to hurt itself everytime it lets my mind wander beyond the stars. 

Funny, really, how I’m still going to be waiting. 

Waiting to be loved like I love. 

Waiting for the love that feels like it will never come. 

Waiting for that one person, who will love me, to drop into my life without me knowing it. 

I’ll be waiting here, 

Hopeless poems and all.

[crazy-writer-101]

The Eyes of a Pigeon

For nearly three summers, four human kids visited the abandoned school. The school wasn’t dangerous. Sometimes,  I would fly above the worn building, but it was difficult since it was a very tall building. The school was surrounded by tall grass fields a long, long way from any other buildings. Once when it was really cold, some guys with bright hats tried to knock down the school, but the kids gathered a bunch of other kids and they staked out in the building for nearly two nights, stopping the glowy guys from taking away the building. 

The kids would go to the school almost every day around the middle of the day when the bright sun would cast an orange kind of glow on the blue right above. There were two boys and two girls. One of the boys would always bring small cans filled with color and after excessive shaking, he would point it at one of the walls and cool drawings would appear. Another boy in this crazy chair with wheels, would always be staring at these stacks of paper that were somehow bound together. One of the girls wore lots of shiny gems and would sometimes help the boy with the color cans, but she would usually be playing with scraps in the building, occasionally picking flowers or weeds. The other girl would pick up a rusty pole and jump around singing songs while dancing wildly. 

They were shorter last year. In fact they were very different from this year. The boy with colorful cans only brought a tall bottle of stinky liquid now. Even if the smell was unpleasant, the boy still drank it. The girl who used to pick flowers, only slumped into a dusty pillow, sometimes rolling some weird looking leaves into a little brown paper, sometimes holding the rolled paper up to her mouth and breathing smoke. The other girl who sang loudly, now sat in one place most of the time, her hands wrapped around her legs that were pulled up to her chest. Small tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. Something was wrong with them. 

It especially started falling through when the second boy stopped showing up. I stopped hearing the turning circles of his chair after summer of this year. The kids slowly began showing up less and less as soon as the leaves changed to a different color and the air got colder. On days they wouldn’t show up, I began to think they would never come back. Then they showed up individually. 

The boy would throw things around and break the windows that weren’t already broken, yelling words that I’ve heard mothers tell their children not to say. The girl who breathed smoke would only go there sometimes to ramble to air about how it ‘wouldn’t approve of her smoking’. Before any guilt can settle her features, she would laugh dryly before mumbling ‘but you’re dead’ and then falling asleep soon after. The girl who cried would go to the old school and only ever cried. Her beautiful hair was always tangled and her porcelain face was redden and drenched in tears. Pain filled her voice as she screamed into the wind things I could never experience and would never want to. I would try to coo to calm her down and sometimes it helped, but sometimes her cries were too loud. 

It broke my little heart every time I saw them be so different from when they were shorter. It was like they were completely different kids. Maybe they are. Are they? Are they different children from last year? Well, what happened to the other ones? No, no, these are the ones from last year. Because the boy used the last of his color cans to paint the other boy’s wheelchair that was empty of the boy who always sat in it. Because the girl bundled the last flowers she picked into a bouquet wrapped in a black transparent fabric. Lace, I think she said? Because the tear-stained girl sang a sad song to the fields. 

I was flying across town one day. I had just been bitten on the leg by a stray dog. He was skinny and looked hungry and if it didn’t end with me dying, I would’ve stayed and helped him find food. My leg hurt and I felt whatever I had eaten early coming back to exit my mouth. I swallowed it back down and kept flying even in pain. 

I flew to a familiar place that usually had a familiar smell; freshly baked bread. It came from the window of a small room in a tall building. I flew to the window that was cracked slightly open, not enough for me to fly through. Everything seemed normal except for the fact that there was no fresh bread and no one in the small room. An older woman, however, burst through the door, wailing and screaming. An older man rushed in after her and held her tightly as she slowly fell to the ground. Both of the people were familiar because they were the same people that were with the girl with the pretty voice every morning and every night. Except the girl wasn’t here. Hopefully nothing terrible has happened to her. 

I pushed off the ledge with pain and began flying again. The sun was barely setting behind the old building so the kids should be at the abandoned school now. I took two lefts and a right and before I took another right and passed the clean school where the kids went almost everyday too, I saw a lot of bright lights. Red and blue flashed rapidly and my mind hurt a little bit. I moved to get a better look at the unusual activity and almost crashed into a window. Kids were crying and more were shaking. I cooed a little in hopes of the crying to stop. Like times before, it did nothing. Before I could fly away, I noticed a familiar face. Two scary men were hauling out the boy that had colored cans. But now his hands are colored and stuck together behind his back. His eyes were tearstained and he looked so sad. So sad. 

He got shoved into the back of a box with wheels that flashed red and blue. He didn’t come back out after a second. And another second. I didn’t realize until later that was the last time I would see him. I flew up towards the orange up above and began making my way to the old school. The wind felt colder tonight. My feathers didn’t do me mercy like all the times before. I kept flying all the way to my destination. When I got there, only one kid was there. The girl who breathed smoke. She held the little magic stick in her hand as she sat against a wall. I fought against the silly little voices in my head, and flew down through a broken window. Landing a couple feet from the girl, my leg burned with pain. The girl looked down at me with glassy eyes and smiled softly. 

“You hurt, bud?” She muttered, reaching her hand out to me. I flinched and shuffled back a little. She looked at me sympathetically before putting the little stick between her fingers up to her mouth and breathing more grey smoke. 

“It’s okay. I ain’t gonna hurt you. I have no reason to. My friends are gone. I’m gone,” her voice was shaky and it looked like she might cry, but she never did, “I’m leaving this town. And all my memories with it. Including them.” 

She breathed and looked toward the entrance of the school that had no doors. You can see tall grass for a long time. I cooed softly. She let out a dry chuckle without looking away from the field. She sniffed and I could see tears threaten to spill from her eyes. Nothing fell though. No tears ever fell since the air got colder and the others slipped away. She needed to cry, but she never did. 

“I really wish we can go back to being little kids,” she muttered. Her voice cracked and she sniffled again. Some sort of darkness covered her features. Suddenly that same dark feeling pulled at something inside my chest. I had no idea what it was but it didn’t feel well. I wanted to make things better, but there was nothing I could do. 

After that dark day, I never saw any of the kids again. I spent many warm summers and cold winters going to the abandoned school, hoping they came back. I spent too many summers and winters, pretending they would come home. It hurt my chest each and every time they didn’t show up. They were gone and, after a long time, my leg stopped hurting. So did my chest. I felt happy. I flew, now, above the orange and blue. The air was no longer cold nor dark. I stopped worrying about the kids and the abandoned school when the boy in the wheelchair told me everything was okay. 

[crazy-writer-101]

Old Fashioned Love

I want to fall in love. 

I want to fall so madly in love with someone. 

Even if it makes me nervous, I want to make eye contact with you. 

A lot. 

The butterflies you give me are beautiful. 

I want to have secret handshakes and lots of inside jokes. 

Can we laugh our asses off together? 

I want matching bracelets, 

and kissing in the rain. 

I want to act like idiots together, 

talk about the most random stuff, 

and never get tired of each other. 

I want to be myself around you. 

Let's fall in love, 

and we'll tease each other. 

Let's fall in love, 

and I'll steal your hoodies. 

Let's fall in love, 

and you can buy me flowers. 

Let's fall in love, 

and you can tell me corny pick up lines. 

Let’s fall in love, 

and I can write poems about you. 

Let's fall in love, 

and take cute little selfies. 

Let's fall in love, 

and I can fall asleep on your shoulder. 

Let's fall in love, 

and sing our favorite songs at the top of our lungs. 

Let's fall in love, 

and my siblings will love you. 

Let’s fall in love, 

and I’ll read books to you. 

Let's fall in love, 

and fall asleep in each other's arms. 

Let's fall in love, 

and you can wrap your arms around my waist, 

and I'll wrap mine around your neck, 

and we'll slow dance to old school music. 

We can always text because I'll be here for you. 

Tell me about your day. 

Send me pictures of what you're doing. 

Spam me if I don't answer. 

Tell me what's bothering you. 

You have my number. 

I want us to be patient with each other even when things get rough. 

I want to learn your fears and goals, and all your dreams. 

I want to hear about your family.  

I want to remember your small details, 

and you can remember mine. 

I want you to call me when you see something interesting, 

and wanted to tell me all about it.

I want to be chaotic with you, 

and then fall asleep listening to your voice. 

Make me become a blushing mess, 

by just calling me pretty. 

Compliment me non-stop, 

and I'll do the same towards you. 

Tell your friends about me, 

and I'll tell mine all about you. 

Let's go on silly little dates,

like bike rides and arcade days. 

Let's have long conversations late at night, 

and watch the sun rise. 

Let's hold hands as we drive for hours, 

listening to music. 

Let's play fight, 

and laugh until our ribs hurt. 

Let's go buy our favorite food, 

and eat in the parking lot while we mess around. 

Let's play video games, 

and I'll get mad at you for winning.

Let's go to each other's family events, 

because you would become a part of my family and I'll become a part of yours. 

Let's fall asleep together, 

while I listen to your heart beat.  

I'm no expensive girl. 

Buy me lilies and my favorite candy. 

Write me love letters with little paper hearts, 

and I'll think about it all the time. 

Buy me cheap jewelry,

and I'll wear it everyday. 

Buy me a stuffed animal that reminds you of me, 

and I'll hold onto it forever. 

Maybe it doesn't have to be handmade, 

Maybe all I want is a hug from you. 

Listen to me rant about my feelings for hours, 

and I'll listen to you forever. 

Let's fight and argue, 

and talk things out in the end. 

We'll check up on each other, 

and make sure everything is okay. 

We’ll be there for each other when life gets in the way. 

We’ll lift each other up when life pushes us to the ground. 

Tell me about what you're passionate about, 

and I'll listen to every word. 

I'll support you in what you love to do, 

and you can support me. 

I can feel safe when I'm with you, 

because I trust you. 

Your smile will light up my darkest days, 

and your laugh will be music to my ears. 

Your eyes will stare into mine,

even after I look away. 

Your hair can be perfect and I'll mess it up, 

and you can do the same to me. 

You have no reason to be insecure, 

because I fell in love with you, 

and in my eyes, 

you're perfect. 

I'll fall in love with you,

you'll run forever in my mind, 

you'll become tangled in my soul, 

and you'll be housed by my heart. 

You won't only just be my love, 

but my best friend too. 

Yes, I will admit it. 

I get jealous when I see you talking to another girl. 

Maybe she'll love you, 

Maybe you'll love her. 

But she won't ever love you like I can. 

We can film our own corny rom-com, 

We can sing a hundred love songs, 

We can write a love story like no other. 

We can have our own old fashioned love. 

[crazy-writer-101]

I don't think I want to forget, 

I just want to be happy to remember. 

[crazy-writer-101]

[crazy-writer-101]

I love how different forms of art are all obsessed with each other. A book tries to capture the feeling of music, a painting tries to depict a scene in a book, a song tries to paint a picture. And it's always insufficient. No single form of art can encapsulate another form of art and capture the essence of it – but it tries, and its attempts are impossibly compelling. All the forms of art are in love with each other and spend so much time trying to express what makes the other kinds of art so lovely.

[crazy-writer-101]

And I'll keep telling myself,

I don't tell anyone about my problems, because I don't want to be a burden. I'll deal with it on my own.

But the true reason will always be,

I never felt safe expressing my own feelings as a kid.

And I hate that.

[crazy-writer-101]

before i agree to 2024 i wanna read the terms & conditions

[crazy-writer-101]

merry christmas everyone, and happy holidays. I hope you enjoy your celebrations with your families and found family alike.

and don't let your shitty uncle ruin your day.

everyone has that one shitty uncle that shows up to the party.

remember, you'll outlive them.

happy holidays, you're beautiful, and I hope it's a good one

[crazy-writer-101]

Maybe this will encourage me to actually finish these

Finish The Midnight War first draft.

Begin second draft The Midnight War.

Begin the first draft of The War At Dawn.

Find the plot for Glorious People.

Finish world building for The Seven Castles (title in progress).

Begin and finish the first draft of The Seven Castles.

Make an outline for contemporary novel.

Finish first draft of The Vintage Moon.

Publish poetry book.

Write songs.

Begin outlining The Wondrous, Wonderful Wanders of Ms. Pep Peppers.

Finish the first draft of the end of the world novel.

Work on WIPs I have.

Come up with more ideas .

Finish screenwriting projects.

Finish poetry drafts.

Make an outline for The Side Pieces.

Finish piece for poetry competition.

Make an outline for love story. And find the title.

Do more writing exercises.

Create cover art for The Midnight War.

Begin comic script.

Fix grammar

Write more everyday.

There's so much more. I might cry.

guys what are your writing resolutions for this coming year? it's 2024, is anyone else making 24 resolutions to pair with that?

[crazy-writer-101]

Falling For Romeo

Every once and a while, 

you show up with a rare smile, 

with no warning at any season,

with really no reason. 

Do the smallest thing ever, 

and my heart will flutter with pressure. 

Never even trying to impress, 

Only leaving my mind a mess

Honestly speaking though, 

I don’t know how you feel about the girl you don't know, 

Because I don’t have a big part in your world. 

But for once I wish I was your girl. 

Your smile is one secret code. 

Everytime I see it, quiet fireworks explode. 

I have to fight the urge to kiss your lips, 

because if I do we would cause a bag of tricks. 

That's the thing about falling for Romeo. 

Can never tell when I see him for our love will always be a forbidden woe. 

Hopefully this doesn't end in tragedy,  

But it seems to be going downhill rapidly. 

Just a silly little crush. 

Right?  

[crazy-writer-101]

tw; sour blood

I was always told, 

Trust me. 

But those promises soon went cold, 

When they found out they were free. 

Never being who they said they were to be, 

because their deal of blood got too old. 

Generations and generations 

of nothing but betrayal.

A fire started by our relations, 

so dangerous, so fatal. 

Everything burned from the foundations, 

but things had always been unstable. 

Our blood went sour 

by the world's cruelty. 

We used and abused our power, 

and it turned into painful beauty. 

The kind we want to devour, 

but it turns our insides gloomy. 

Tell me why we share the same blood, 

but it doesn't connect us. 

We're never respected, never loved, 

because we share no trust. 

Tricked, feared, killed, or drugged 

will we only forget all that's corrupt. 

Seasons continue to change, 

but these people never do. 

Always the same story on each page. 

I'll survive the house that never grows and has never grew. 

I'll survive the normal that some call strange. 

But will I be the only one that makes it through? 

I was always told, 

Your blood is your family.

But we were betrayed and those facts were sold. 

We come from the same history, 

Just like the villain and the hero in every story of gold. 

Yet the hero found different blood in his own victory. 

Family doesn't always mean blood knots, 

But sometimes you find it where you never even look;  

In the wild souls and soft hearts. 

I don't need my own past to write our book. 

These pages will have the future, not a curse, 

because we never ignore or overlook.

Blood will spill and dry up, 

but our souls will go on forever. 

Blood will leave us abrupt, 

but we will hold tight to our found treasure. 

The vampire of our past will leave us sucked, 

for we only wished ourselves better.

But we're family. 

And I wished it stayed like that, 

but generations of the same selfish rhapsody, 

has taken it from our grasp. 

Only if our story hadn't been a tragedy, 

we could have been a family with no tricks or traps

It's too late, my dear. 

In another life, our blood wouldn't have gone sour, 

and our trust would still be here. 

But now I've found something to replace what was never ours. 

Our mixed blood creates a color palette free from fears and tears. 

I've finally found something to fix all that needs repairs. 

[crazy-writer-101]

Introooo

My pen name is Max Ray Lopez, but you can just call me Max.

I write fantasy, contemporary, sci-fi, romance, mystery, thriller, dystopian, and horror. Yeah, a lot of genres. I also write poetry from time to time. Warning, I will write sad endings because I want to.

I have a lot of novels in progress. I mean a LOT. I have a habit of starting things before I finish other things. If you want to hear about my novels, ask or wait until I post about them.

I don't know what else to say besides that I'm a weird person.

I love rock/alternative music and sad quotes.

I may not be good at advice, but I will provide it if asked for.

Go write one sentence or one page. As long as you write something.

(Even if it's one word)