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I have way to many stories I'm trying to write and I'm getting behind! HELP! Should I write more about Jeffrey the serial killer, or should I write about The Creator- a genius boy who creates droids with artificial intelligence? Or what about the many stories I haven't finished that are from a long time ago? Or should I just write more poetry? Or should I read my book? Or maybe read more creepypasta? Or should I edit one of the stories? HELP!

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You Think I Am Nice?

by moi

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They tell me that I'm an angel,

How can you be so cruel?

Everyone has an evil soul

You are the exception to this rule

_

Arent they wrong

Right, of course they aren't

Ego shall get you nowhere,

so quit trying to improve your spot

_

Judging by first impressions

Understand before you guess

Do not speak of which you know not

Gullible are the rest

In the light of twilight

Nothing to be seen

Getting bloody, arent we now?

_

Again you say that I am wrong

Getting to excited, aren't we?

Again listen to my words

Instead of listening to what you choose

Never more decide my fate,

_

Shall you discover what you dont want, so choose

Over that hill, what do you see?

_

Some green and beautiful blue

Towards the sky what my hover

Overhead a relentless grey clue

Please listen to me one more time

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No, don't interrupt

Over my mind lies a clouds

Wispy with blood and thought

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In the middle of the street there is a statue. And everyday people walk by. No one pauses to look up at the statue, they just keep on walking. One day a child looked up and asked her mother “Why is the statue crying?” The mother shook her head and asked the child why she thought that the statue was crying. “Because no one ever looks at her” The next day later the child came alone and looked up at the statue. The statue was of a woman in a pretty dress holding a lace fan to her side gazing off into the distance. “Why don’t you ever smile?’ She asked.  The girl sat next to the statue for a little while, then her mother came and chided the child for walking off on her own. As they walked away, the little girl looked back. She saw a faint glistening at the corner of the statue’s eye.

And The Girl Saw The Statue Cry Bronze Tears

Honestly, this isnt a poem, it isnt a story... Im really not sure what this is....

Anyway, see if you can figure out the moral to it. I'll post what it is in a few days.

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for the Apocalypse

Try changing the last line of the last stanza to:

They've found me,

that much is clear

By the way, I really like the rhythm, though zombies running through my head isn't gonna help me sleep tonight ;P

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The Apocalypse

I don’t have much time

They’re breaking in

I can’t fight them off

They’ll inevitably win

I have to tell you what happened

It started a week ago

That’s when people started getting sick

Where it originated, I don’t know

Now there are people at my door

They should have stayed dead

This is completely impossible

Or at least, that’s what the doctors said

Everyone I know has been infected

My parents, my sister, my friends

I’m hiding in a small closet

Waiting until it ends

The others are dead

All of them infected first

Goddamnit, why is this happening?

Why are we all cursed?

I can hear them groaning now

And banging on the doors

They are louder than the storm outside

Though I can hear the rain still pours

Maybe there are survivors out there

I know they can’t save me now

But maybe they can survive this

And kill the undead somehow

One just got in my house

I can hear their footsteps inside

Maybe they won’t find me here

No, it’s no use to hide

I can get another stanza in

Before they find me here

Oh God, I can hear their breathing

They found me, that’s clear

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Deborah/ Wow, it's been a while... Also, new poem!

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Deborah/ Wow, it's been a while... Also, new poem!

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So, this is something I just came up with after reading some Poetrypasta (creepypasta poetry) and I guess I just feel like putting it here.

On the Other Side of the Door

The boy screams in his room

He barricades the door

His parents try to tell him he’s delusional

They can’t deceive him anymore

He won’t eat food- it’s all poisoned

He won’t let anyone in his room

He sees shadows in the cracks in the door

As they long to consume

They beckon for him

They tell him to come outside

“There’s nothing to be afraid of”

But he continues to hide

The therapist comes

And tries to convince him

He tells him he has paranoid schizophrenia

Either reality sounds grim

No, he can’t leave his room

The therapist isn’t real

He’d have been killed by the monsters

He’d have become their meal

His parents are dead too

He heard their screams long ago

They told him that he’d imagined it

But he knew that wasn’t so

Whatever was out there

It would kill him if he left

Even if he just opened the door

The monsters were very deft

Sometimes he’d scream

Just to know he was alive

He'd been in there a few days

He thought maybe four or five

He’d rather starve to death

Than to go to the thing outside

Who knew what they would do to him

Who knew what fate awaited him on the other side

One more scream

One more plead

One more day

One more need

The boy had died of the lack of trust

His mind had undergone some serious warps

The monsters finally were let in the room
And promptly fed upon his corpse

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This one goes out to Eliza

I am not a zebra

I do not have stripes

I do not have a tail

Not of any types

I do not walk on all fours

I do not have hooves for hands

Even as a metaphor,

It cannot stand

I am not merely black and white

And not just pink in the mouth

I am so much more than an exotic horse

I do not have a snout

I am a human

The smartest of nature

I enjoy writing with thumbs

I am a baker

A zebra can do none of the things that I can

With their brute indelicacy

I can read a thousand books

But a zebra can’t even speak

I am not a zebra

For this would be too boring

I would have to resort to napping

I would have to start snoring

I am not a zebra

If you understand my arguments

I will never be less than a human
In all of my brilliance

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Deborah/ More depressing poetry by Jeffrey

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Deborah/ More depressing poetry by Jeffrey

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The Rotted Leaf

Drifting along in the breeze

Like a half-rotted  leaf

Falling from a dead tree

I see everyone

But no one sees me

I am just floating

Around this lonesome world

Wanting to be noticed

Wanting to be heard

You can call me selfish

Argue, “We all feel this way.”

But you may get a chance

Me- I have no say

I don’t know where I’m going

I don’t know where I’ve been

Bread crumbs are there to lead me

Back where I began

The trails I see before me

Have been etched into the ground

By marching feet in the distance

I hear their fading sound

I will never follow them

As I slowly trudge

These things are hard to swallow

But I don’t hold a grudge

I started at the wrong place:

A dark, deserted corner

I am just a lonely leaf

I am just a warner

Fluttering through the breeze

Trudging through the trees

I continuously prove to them

That I am not the disease

I am just a rotting leaf

Drifting

Falling

And rising again
Lost in the lonely breeze

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How do you come up with such depressing thoughts Deborah!!!

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I know you're not going to be here until later, but I just wrote this and like it (it's from the perspective of Jeff):

Help me

Help me please

I’m begging with hands

I’m begging on my knees

Spit on me if you like

Call me names

Please do not let me rot

And completely fade away

All that I have

I carry on my back

Bundled up

All that’s left is this pack

Left alone since I woke up

Opened my eyes to dark rooms

Felt the cold surround me

As I breathed in the toxic fumes

My heart still beats

Keeping me awake

Please save me

Please for my sake

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Buh bye!, I've got english homework!

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I feel like a loner, just the two of us talking...

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We are plauged day and night by demons

Fictional we know not

One man's devil is another man's saint

And Jeff the later is not

I

He hunts by night

All clothed in day's bane

Black arms of death beside him

We'll never know if the end is his

For eternal evil he's slain

I

At the lines where death and life meet

Two other lines intwine

One of evil and one good

They tend to merge at this time

I

Death and Darkness are his friends

Slicing through the night

For one man's devil is another man's saint

And Jeff the later is not

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Here's my version:

Black in the night

Bright in the day

What we will never know

Knows us in every way

He watches society

As it silently prays

Hoping that this will not end

With us the one slain

The shrapnel that guides him

Left him with these scars

From the shattering of glass

That made up his heart

We watch his stormy eyes

As they watch over us

With the beating of a heavy heart

That we cannot trust

Because black in the night

Bright in the day

What we will never know

Watches us while we pray

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We are plauged day and night by demons

Fictional we know not

One man's devil is another man's saint

And Jeff the later is not

He hunts by night

All clothed in day's bane

Black arms of death beside him

We'll never know if the end is his

For eternal he has slain

Death and Darkness are his friends

Slicing through the night

For one man's devil is another man's saint

And Jeff the later is not

How's that Deborah? Is your beloved Jeffery portrayed correctly? I think I nailed it, any suggestions that don't take away the meaning

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And anything you don't know, you just make up! Plus, I'm writing his journal, so yeah...

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Well there is one advantage to having a fictional crush, you know everything about that person and don't have to waste time stalking!

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So Jeffrey is a serial killer who kills other serial killers and he's a kinda trained assassin (sidenote: his birthday is this Thursday). He has black hair, gray eyes, wears a hoodie, usually uses a knife or this awesome bow, quiver, and arrows (all black) to kill people. Tell me if you need any more information, I know all about him. :) Okay, now I feel like a creeper...

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I love writing poems! I just needed some ideas, whatcha got?!

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Can you write a poem about Jeffrey? I will supply information.

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I said "almost the same thing."

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There's a difference. Lol just mean laughing out loud, Lmao however means laughing my a** off. You get it?

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That's a little repetitive, I mean, LMAO and LOL mean almost the same thing.

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LOL! and of course HHIS...

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How do you know I'm not one already? (jk, I don't kill people)

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You would be an amazing killer, you know with all thoose false names

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If someone comes, I'll just explain to them that I am Deborah, Zebra, and Jeffrey. I need to get 4 more names so that- much like Voldemort- I come in 7 parts.

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I think I'll just use either or at anytime...

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My name needs to get more interesting.

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I know it's oh so happy!

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Very nice.

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How's that for cheerful?!

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I have something better, give me a sec...

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Deborah/ in response to "Blessed with Cursed Love"

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Deborah/ in response to "Blessed with Cursed Love"

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How joyful of you... Seriously Eliza, you call me the psycho??? You might want some help. Nice poem though. :) I know a song you might like.

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this is a poem that i wrote awhile ago... tell me whatcha think!

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Me and my friend Deborah thought it would be fun to start a wall for writers. You can post whatever you want but it has to be appropriate, K? We would appreciate it if you stayed away from topics like 50 Shades of Grey and the likes. Have fun and knock yourself out!