Really? How is Opuss still a thing? Cmon you guys. I used this when i was 13 to pretend i was a writer. You can see more than half of the community has disappeared just like i did. Why? Because this is lame. Seriously. Only sad, lonely people here...

Laces And Faces I just sat down and wrote, as I haven't done that in way too long. -- Ladies in swirling big dresses Men with fancy mustaches They all twirl around and around me. I see a glimpse of a familiar face Which quickly lost by a flash of lace And I feel lost once more. I see fuzzy and cannot concentrate I can't tell the time nor remember the date I don't know how I got here or who I am. I can feel the corset constricting my waist I bite my toungue and scowl at the taste I cannot find myself. A granfather's clock chimes it's eight forty-two Above the sound of dancing shoes And turn around to face it. I see my reflection on it's face And this creature I see looks misplaced Because that isn't me. The room swirls and bends under my feet My eyes scan for an empty seat But all I see are dancers dancing around me. I feel sick, I feel ill like I've taken the wrong pill As I collapse on the wooden floor. I feel a rush, has it stopped? Have my head fibally popped? And then everything is gone. There is only black and I can't hear As I am taken compeltely by fear Have I gone blind? Have I gone mad? I wake up in my room The clock's green glow says its five after two And for a moment I do not know who I am. Why would I dream of a ball? I think as I wonder the halls And then I remember, and then I recall It was my past #life. --- I feel this is shit but I haven't written poetry in so long that anything goes. Wrote this all in one sitting, in one goal, so I apologize if this makes little sense.

Figurines There is this little girl, A very strange little girl, Who likes to play With her clay figurines In her house’s attic. She is an abnormality, With but her figurines For company. Yet they are better friends Than most humans can be. There is this little girl, A very strange little girl, Who goes by the name of Laura. She shapes clay Into human forms Which she then brings to #life. Her eyes are ash, Her hair is coal, And her face is as pretty as can be. Her nose is pointy, Her lips are full, And she is always giddy. She laughs by herself, As she talks to her clay Figurines. She is quite a sight to behold, A vision to see unfold, A picture frame worth more than gold. Laura loves to play With her clay Figurines. They keep her busy for many days And many nights In a row. There is this little girl, A very strange little girl, Who has the power of #life. She makes little clay hearts, Which then, with a sweet kiss She blesses So it will be filled with a soul And start beating. Into the clay figurines The beating clay hearts go. The clay figurines Then burst into #life, Moving like a humans, Looking like humans, Behaving like humans, Yet just not human. There is this little girl, A very strange little girl, Who is treated like a freak. Like an aberration, A demon, A monster. They say she moves like humans, Looks like humans, Behaves like humans, Yet she is just as human As her clay figurines Who are yet just not human. But Laura never gets sad. She is glad For fear keeps them all away, It keeps her safe It keeps her little clay figurines safe Where no one can touch them, Where no one can find them. They are her secret, The one thing she has to herself And to herself only. And so she is glad. She knows that if they found out She would burn at the stake Like her mother And all her ancestors Like the witches they were. So she keeps quiet Up in her house’s attic Where no one can find her Or her clay figurines That dance And prance Around and around her giddy form. There is this little girl This very strange little girl, Who goes by the name of Laura. A witch she is, Blessed and cursed With the power over #life. So she stays With her clay Figurines. They are her only friends And she doesn’t even mind For they are better friends Than humans could ever be. A new family moved into her house Not too long ago. So she hides herself And her clay figurines In that darkened attic. She's disguised As the cutest doll you will ever Lay your eyes upon, She tricks little girls into playing with her Into loving her, Into taking her with them Wherever they go. Until she turns back In the middle of the night, While the little girls are asleep And sucks their souls Out of their beating hearts, Of which she then feeds on. She knows one soul Must be taken Before another Can be given. ‘Tis the law of #life, No one can create a #life, Without a sacrifice. To make a new friend, Someone must die, And she is always Expanding her collection Of clay figurines. There is this little girl, A very strange little girl, Who goes by the name of Laura. She is a peculiar one, That she is, And no one can deny. She hides in that house’s attic And tricks girl after girl So she can make another figurine. Laura still remains there As she will Forevermore With only her clay Figurines For company. *not quite a #poem, not quite a story. I classify this simply as "writing".

Maybe Maybe if I close my eyes... No, your image is engraved in my mind Maybe if I hold my breath for as long as I can... No, though the haze of deoxygenation you'll still be there. Maybe if I sleep through the day... No, you'll be starring in my dream anyway. Maybe if I smoke just a little... No, for your memory I would belittle. So perhaps if I smoke a lot... No, I'd still feel you there through the pot. Maybe if I drink to forget No, I could never forget the day we met. There is no way to put you out of my mind, Maybe I will instead pull out my knife Maybe join you. Yes, 'tis what I'll do.

Night Vale "Welcome to Night Vale," The deep voice says in my ear I smile and relax. *Please someone say they get this...