Mirage

I stand in a river of happiness. 
Everywhere I turn,
I see my face against the mirrors of smoke,
Lips contorted into a smile, when really, it is broke.
I thirst for it—
Passion beyond compare,
Compassion to despair
I lust for it.
An addiction feeding me;
I cannot quit.
What fades is the need to be free.
Not unfit,
but out of wit.
Nothing seems to sit
with me.
I feed off a mirage—
a mirage of happiness.

Demons dancing 
inside my mind.
Skulls are prance
before my eyes.
All that I know
it blows inside.
Every last foes
waits for my cry.

Why, oh, just why
do you haunt me?
Why, oh, just why
can't you stop please?
Why, oh, just why
this misery?

Demons inside
they hunt and kill.
Demons inside
they kill and still
are inside my
mind of darkness.
Why, oh, just why,
did you start this?
Oh hope, I hope
it was worth it
'cause now I'm the
heart of demons.

Demons like me
will run freely,
Haunting the weak
Speaking meekly.

In the morning,
It's a warning,
I'm a demon
alive inside.
But still I don't
Even know just why

Demons like me
We hunt and kill.
Demons like me
We kill but still
are inside your
mind of darkness.
You are asking,
"Why, oh, just why"
did we start this?
You hope, you hope
it was worth it
'cause now you're the
heart of demons.

Just let me go.
Just let me go.
Speak easily,
not evilly.
Just let me go.
Just let me go.
I don't want it.
I don't need it.
Demon, go.
Demon, show
Yourself outside.
Time for goodbyes.

Demons like you,
You hunt and kill.
Demons like you
Kill and will
Never let go
Of the darkness
Holding you down.
It ain't worth it.
Go on, curse it.
Never am I
The darkness of
you fools and ghouls.

Demons, you fools.

Demons inside
they hunt and kill.
Demons inside
they kill and still
are inside my
mind of darkness.
Why, oh, just why,
did you start this?
Oh hope, I hope
it was worth it
'cause now I'm the
heart of demons.

Demons dancing
inside my mind.
Skulls are prance
before my eyes.
All that I know
it blows inside.
Every last foes
waits for my cry.

I'm a demon.

Passage #1

Slowly, the procession unfolds like floating through a cloud. The crystal altar where the queen, in a leafy, forest green gown, and foliate cape, and foresty crown of crystals waits. Her lush, brown hair billows to her waist.

COMMENT SUGGESTIONS FOR IMPROVEMENT

Youth is a treasure,
It's meant for pleasure;
It's meant for discipline;
It's meant for sin.

Youth is a rose.
When it blooms,
Its beautiful, rich petals
Your senses they consume.
You are the sun—
Your rays allow for the rose
To grow.
You are the water—
You keep the rose
Growing.
You are the seed—
You plant the possibility of youth.

But there are times when too much water
Drowns the rose
There are times when too much sun
Dries out the beauty of the rose.
Like a rose,
Youth flowers just like the rose;
It there for one season;
Then it goes.
The rose petals begin to wilt
And just like that,
the world is still.

Youth is a treasure.
Youth is a rose.
In the strobe lights,
Another Saturday night,
Another party in my brain,
Another rambunctious Sorry game,
I see your face
Beautiful like china,
Beautiful as Paris.

You stick out
Among a row of men
In white collars
And black suits.

Eyes
Limpid pools
Of ocean blue,
Flitting from the cerulean screen
Glowing against your face,
And back to me.

The strobe lights begin to flicker,
And the white collars disappear.
The world is us
If we establish thus
A bond,
If we establish thus
A place
Where we mix together like yin and yang,
Together like melody and harmony.

The stitches of fate bind together.
Warm intertwines with cold.
Fire and rain neutralize.
And the world curls into brightness.

Once upon a time.

Shadows.
She sees shadows
Shaped into the outline
Of her demons.

Her breath.
Her breath grows soft,
Nothing more
Than the gentle hum
Of summer air.

But her thoughts.
Her thought are cold.
Cold as winter.
Cold as ice.
Sharp as a knife
When she sees the shadows.

Her hands.
Her hands,
Once stretched into the light,
Now curled into fists.
Fists of darkness.

The shadows.
The shadows,
Gray as the world
Carve into the darkness.
The darkness of her chest.

Its cadence.
Its cadence mimics the song of her heart.
Her heart turns to stone.

Her eyes.
Her eyes become blind.
Blind to the darkness.
Blind to the world bleeding before her.

The song in her ears.
The song in her ears is a pulse of metal;
Its refrain is a surge of crescendoing ire.
It cuts her senses like a knife.

The world ignored her.
But she ignored the world first.
She overreacted,
And strove to be the worst.
What went first,
And which went last
Is not a question;
It's a question of
What came first
And which came last:
The darkness
Or the loss of her youth
Is now in the past.

Letters from an Angel: Chapter Preview

For reasons, I will only be posting the second chapter of Letters from an Angel.

Instead of breaking it up into parts like I’m doing with Disney Rebels, I will post the chapter as a whole. However beware that there will be a page split.

The following will contain:

  • LGBT themes
  • Strong language
  • Mature/emotional topics

Also here is what happens in the first chapter just to clear you up: Narrator one (Cherith) begins to question her sexuality when her boyfriend of several years asks to take the next step in intimacy.

This chapter will follow through our other narrator, Aisling.

I see a rainbow
After every storm of tears.
Crystallized like a diamond,
It calls me.
Red for the flames.
Orange for the hair-pulling.
Yellow for the sunshine of smiles.
Green for every time I overreact.
Blue for the sea that calms me.
And purple for the maturity of my soul
Young and old.

I wear my colors like a badge
Because there's nothing wrong
Just being me.

I am a rainbow.

Draped in a headscarf, 
Off doth a girl prance to school.
Huddled between two seats,
The girl doth know she broke their rules:
A woman,
A lover of her hometown valley in the shallows,
Spoke the truth,
And almost went to the gallows.
They got on the bus,
Oh, yes, they did,
Wicked and sexist;
They asked for her name,
That's all they said.
An affirmation——
A reluctant "that's me"——
Then three shots
They deemed would be her punishment
For demanding an education.

Then, once an era ago,
In a war that determined the two ruling nations of this earthly life,
Not just one ethnicity was a victim of attempted genocide.
Many a persecuted or met with disdain
Deemed unfit for the "Aryan" race, the distinctly-shaped mustache with an
iron fist declared.
So unfit for the "Aryan" life,
Unfit for humanity, they deemed
So they decreed some as nothing more than animals.
A bleak life,
A bleak world.
Religion, ethnicity, intelligence, personality, behavior, and skin color
Decided if one lived
Or if they died.
Consigned to medical experiments;
Sent to chambers teeming in toxic gas.
None dare shed a tear for the victims until the last.

Some history forgets;
Some history glazes over;
Some history haunts,
For a life of fear,
A memoir of trauma,
Is pain of those who lost.

It seems the world has lost the light in its eyes.
Nothing changes
Even if we try.
Nothing changes.
Thoughts of the mind bound backwards.
Too much pressure of insecurity.
We forget.

It's a lesson we forget to remember:
History repeats
When we all forget.
History repeats
When we don't teach.
We need to think with a modern mind but see with past eyes,
For if the future is bright,
We must surge through December
And always remember.
Always remember.

How to find inspiration

When it comes to writing, the perfect idea for a story can from a multitude of experiences. The key is to make sure that this it fits your personality when you find it and that you have a passion for it.

Ways to find inspiration

  • Personal experiences
  • Dreams
  • “What if” scenarios
  • A not-so generally talked about topic that you want to bring awareness about.
  • An emotion.
  • A song.
  • A cinematic/literary work*

*Note

When being inspired by a cinematic or literary work, it is important to use in the correct type of way.

It is crucial that you ensure that the cinematic/literary work that inspires you to write is used in a way that does not violate copyright laws.

Do not copy the actual idea of the work. Make it your own. Let the work be a source, not a template.

How to Stay Inspired

  • Make playlists that keep you in the mood
  • Plan the book before writing (if you are a planner)
  • Be sure to keep motivated.