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Literature Text
She was beautiful.
And twas I who loved her...
I held her in these hands,
Like a warm blanket,
Comforting and kind.
But she was a bitter poison, toxic and deadly.
No antidote to her venom;
I wasted away with delirious eyes.
A coward they called her,
And it was the truth!.
But to save myself, I would have her bleed.
Her heart a raw panacea;
Crunched between my teeth...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 22nd July 2013
And twas I who loved her...
I held her in these hands,
Like a warm blanket,
Comforting and kind.
But she was a bitter poison, toxic and deadly.
No antidote to her venom;
I wasted away with delirious eyes.
A coward they called her,
And it was the truth!.
But to save myself, I would have her bleed.
Her heart a raw panacea;
Crunched between my teeth...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 22nd July 2013
Literature
Spineless
My mother always told me I was born with four spines. They stay there, side by side, in my ramrod straight back, the reason for my very correct posture. So when my back began to arch, people noticed.
My parents were first. You look different, they would suppose as I would approach every morning for breakfast. Is something wrong? My mother would question. Are you ill? My father would ask.
I had a gift with the vague and I used it to my only advantage in this scenario. Because telling them the truth would be a lot more devastating. How would I tell them about the fact that my bones, my spine, the very part of me they admired most, was depreci
Literature
The Right Hand Curse Reversed
Everything that my right hand has ever written
Comes from the heart and mind of a boy that is cursed
So from now on I’ll learn to write with my left hand
In hope not expectation that this curse will be reversed
And then I shall sit in front of an open fire
Unflinching as each flame licks closer to my face
Not close enough though so it could swallow me whole
But just close enough so that it can have a taste
Of the beads of regret in my perspiration
That are forming and rolling down my furrowed brow
From a wildfire mind that is now out of control
Come thoughts that these damp morals fail to disallow
Everything that my right hand has ev
Literature
You Don't Know Your Daughter At All
Just because she is no longer in a cradle
Does not mean that your baby wont fall
And if you think that her smile means she is happy
Then you don’t know your daughter at all
On arriving home from school she runs up the stairs
And locks herself away in her room
It’s so easy to think that it’s just teenage angst
That will pass in time and be gone soon
Perhaps you assume that it is just boy trouble
A romance that will soon be forgot
Yes, maybe her problems are just a passing phase
But then again what if they are not
What if they’re deep rooted in the parental soil
That you’ve been failing to cultivate
As she grow
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If ye enjoyed this piece, don't forget t' fave it eh? (^_^)/ Each fave means a lot to me.
Author's Comment:
Aye maties,
T'night I'm releasin' a new style. Necromorphed Poetry.
If yer a gamer and ye've played the Dead Space series, ye'll know what necromorphs are. If ye don't, GOOGLE IT x'3
That said, Necromorph poetry is named such because its construction heavily parallels a necromorph infection. Essentially, ye take a poem (any poem really, t'night's was provided by me co-captain) and then ye transform it. The rules are as follows:
- The transformation has t' be morbid in nature. (necromorphs are "scary" I suppose)
- You must keep some of the original poem in there (like necromorphs retain features of the host)
- You cannot just change a few words, that be plagiarism! (get permission and make the work ye own!)
Once yer done, presto ye have a reanimated, necromorph poem.
Personally, I'm going t' be doing quite a lot of these as I really would like t' also work on prose and get things in order. This saves me time on comin' up with entirely new material and allows me th' chance t' see how crazy I can get with any given base.
If ye'd like t' sacrifice yer work t' me. Contact th' church o' unitology, because convergence is comin' and-
What was that? I swear I heard somethin'. I'm a little afraid t' turn t' me right, th' ghost o' Nicole might be there eh? haha! x'D
-Captain Chenbeard o' th' Black Fedora Pirates
If ye'd like t' support me:
- Please donate t' me donation pool on th' front page. Thank ye kindly! Every point helps ^^
Author's Comment:
Aye maties,
T'night I'm releasin' a new style. Necromorphed Poetry.
If yer a gamer and ye've played the Dead Space series, ye'll know what necromorphs are. If ye don't, GOOGLE IT x'3
That said, Necromorph poetry is named such because its construction heavily parallels a necromorph infection. Essentially, ye take a poem (any poem really, t'night's was provided by me co-captain) and then ye transform it. The rules are as follows:
- The transformation has t' be morbid in nature. (necromorphs are "scary" I suppose)
- You must keep some of the original poem in there (like necromorphs retain features of the host)
- You cannot just change a few words, that be plagiarism! (get permission and make the work ye own!)
Once yer done, presto ye have a reanimated, necromorph poem.
Personally, I'm going t' be doing quite a lot of these as I really would like t' also work on prose and get things in order. This saves me time on comin' up with entirely new material and allows me th' chance t' see how crazy I can get with any given base.
If ye'd like t' sacrifice yer work t' me. Contact th' church o' unitology, because convergence is comin' and-
What was that? I swear I heard somethin'. I'm a little afraid t' turn t' me right, th' ghost o' Nicole might be there eh? haha! x'D
-Captain Chenbeard o' th' Black Fedora Pirates
If ye'd like t' support me:
- Please donate t' me donation pool on th' front page. Thank ye kindly! Every point helps ^^
© 2013 - 2024 WordOfChen
Comments64
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I have not yet read this, but I am faving it so that I can clean out my envelope as it is in the thousands. I will read this when I can. If I like it, I will keep it faved, and let you know.