The Most Dangerous Thing About Love

Here’s this week’s Picture it & Write! I’m sorry I’m late!

locker schoolMaybe I was too late.

Maybe I had noticed it too late.

The most dangerous thing about love was that it could deprive you of all your senses, all except the one deep inside of you: that of your heart. When trapped within its unyielding grasp, it would hug you so hard that you would feel the loud drumming of that central organ of yours; it would suffocate you and hypnotize you…

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Burnt And Cold: A Poem

                                                                             Burnt and Cold
                                                                       Consumed         Timber
                                                                Heartless                       Soul
                                                            In My Tomb  
                                                           And Hers                    Nonsense Lies
                                                             Happy                                    Mess
                                                                 Is Unknown                   To You
                                                                          And Only                Never
                                                                             Faith Maybe              She
                                                                                 But Hope            Is Gone
                                                                                      All Lost
                                                                                          To Die
                                                                                              In Her Arms    Lies
                                                                                                  Or Mine        To Me
                                                                                                         Turns Away.

By D. Kwong Waye

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The Writer-Wolf

They picture it and I write; here’s this week’s Picture it & Write:

half moon


Suddenly she burst out of the room.

She had known it all along. Her boss was an evil monster. She had seen him, his face vehemently changing into a disgusting greyish weird shape, while his nose and eyebrows had seemed to melt and his teeth falling off…

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So This Is Christmas!

fallen angel

So this is Christmas…

But what have you done?

That night I saw an angel fall from the sky. Her golden hair gradually lost its shine as she reached the ground. Her beautiful white gown was stained with dirt. I could not see her eyes or her face, but I knew that she was the loveliest thing that could ever exist on Earth. She looked so fragile and innocent.

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