Most fans of the horror genre have seen American Psycho. For me, when it was released for home viewing I raced to Blockbuster with a note from my parents conceding to let me rent the VHS. I brought it home and probably watched it ten times over the weekend before I needed to return it. I got to school Monday morning with the skinny for everyone else on a movie that nobody else's parents would let them see. For once, I was the cool kid.

Talking about my day and how I am feeling. Therapy appointment, family drama, and feelings in general.

I go through periods of being super inspired to write and even longer periods of massive writer's block. Sometimes I struggle to find ways to deal with it. I'm currently dealing with writer's block while on chapter 21 of my first book.

Everyone else was singing about jet planes, but I was standing in a "Silent Solo." Looking out at my father sitting alone in the gymnasium, I realized some people leave and don't come back. This is the moment the music stopped, and I had to become a sturdy soldier.

Many people believe that being brave means having no fear or worry. That isn't true though. True bravery is when you're absolutely terrified, but do the right thing anyways.

This poem is an expression of my desire to always help others. Even at my own expense. Being a people pleaser is something many people struggle with. It can be difficult, but learning when to put yourself first is an essential skill.

I wrote this poem to express my own personal battle of trying to move on from past pains and trauma. It's never easy, and the pain doesn't always truly go away. However, despite that we can always build something new and better.

Stings trace my body, from chest, to arms, to stomach. I call it thunder. It floods me, leaving me to wonder when love became a storm, and why I let go of myself

Silent love screams in my chest, yet stays hushed in your hands. Shattered like glass after he walked away, I gather the broken pieces—October and November’s perfect warmth now only scorches me. From safe hugs to panic attacks, home burned to ashes. This scattered poem is a heartbreak puzzle: self-harm, abandonment, endless ache. Piece it together if you dare—you’ll feel why I still love him in deafening silence. Forever.

There are moments when the veil thins around your life — when the signs get louder, the dreams get stranger, and something winged stirs in the dark. If you’re here, you already feel it. AlationAshes Veils Tarot is for the ones who sense the shift before it arrives. For the ones who carry old wounds like echoes. For the ones standing at a threshold they can’t name yet. My readings are not vague guidance or soft comfort. They are doorways — ritual, shadowed, and precise. Each one cuts through illusion, reveals what’s been pulling at you, and shows the path rising from the ashes beneath your feet. If you’re tired of guessing… If you’re done repeating the same patterns… If you feel the wings of your next chapter beating against the veil… Then step through. Your answers are already waiting.

This piece paints a vivid picture of despair and cynicism. Love and goodness are just fleeting illusions in a universe indifferent. It's a journey through a world where every hint of light is just a mask for the shadows beneath, where time turns what we cherish into emptiness.

This is written during the loss of my family to murder! It paints a vivid picture of anguish and longing. A soul crying out for release. Yearning for peace amidst darkness. Finding no love, only anguish, somberness, and anger. I felt nothing but pain!

My life of an abusive relationship, pain suffering and more. I want to try and relate to others if I can.

About how my night is going and what I did. From 4:25pm to 9:45pm on March 17,2026. From cooking dinner to doing makeup and showering.

Pain as Compass, Ghosts as Witnesses A ritual of survival carved in bruises and glowing fault lines. This poem walks the reader through a dark pilgrimage where sorrow leaves sigils and the road teaches in silence. Each step is a cracked rune, each ghost a nod toward truth. If you’ve ever carried pain like a lantern, this piece will feel like home — fractured, glowing, and quietly holy.

passage describes a dark ritual of symbolic death, unfolding in a shattered, funereal atmosphere. The imagery centers on: - Ashen bells and cracking salt circles that signal the tightening collapse of the self. - Black veils, guttering candles, and humming altar stones that create a room haunted by the memory of a fading heartbeat. - A shadow kneeling without the speaker, offering the last remnants of identity like coins for Charon — a symbolic payment for crossing from life into death. - A fountain for the dead and the River Styx reinforce the mythic transition. - The ritual ends not with release, but with a slow, heavy sinking — an emotional collapse rendered as a ceremonial passage.

I speak in Splinter's, language cracked like glass. There is a noise in the wall, bleeding into the floor boards,like spilled ink.

Talking about unemployment and job hunting. Talking about starting my own business and blogging, until I find a job and even after.

Trying to find an apartment is stressful but I also know that God has a plan. daily life has been peaceful with a few setbacks.

I’m gonna be writing about my daily life as a 23 year old mom of 3, one who is level 3 autistic and nonverbal. Also talking about my mental health and how it affects my daily life.