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Literature
When I was a child, I was afraid of ...
When I was a child, I was afraid of walking home alone in the dark. In the winters, especially, just walking home from school was something that truly terrified me. It terrified me, as I was a child with a great imagination. Not seeing what was around me in the woods I would have to walk through to get home only made it worse. Because even when I couldn’t see, I could still hear and I could still feel. I could hear every little noise that was created by something out there. I heard the wind rustling the trees, the crunching of snow under my boots, and that godforsaken rumbling and rustling I would never know the origin of.
During my lo
Literature
Metus
One flat night, the wind stilled itself like a breath held in the worst kind of anticipation; the moment when you realize, too late, that everything has gone wrong with every carefully laid plan. Every alibi come to naught in the face of something far too dark to even be given shape: gloried in the feverish tongues of those men who spread their crazed scripture to those who pass beneath their perches just out of reach.
Fear.
The word dances across the lips of the multitudes, washing away serenity and sense, slathering a coat of ashen sludge across our hearts and burrowing into the mind like some virulent maggot, squirming for that last litt
Literature
Does it bother you?
Does it bother you
That I am incomplete?
An empty shell
Left behind
Utterly weak.
Does it bother you
That I am broken?
Scattered pieces
Endlessly lost
Never to be spoken.
Does it bother you
That I am defeated?
Lost to the world
Forgotten by all
Forever to be repeated.
Does it bother you
That I am lost?
Forever wandering
In the shadows of life
A whisper never to exhaust.
Does it bother you
That I am enslaved?
By my memories
And darkened thoughts
A soul never to be saved.
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