Category Archives: Artist

Remember When I Was Sixteen…

…And Wrote All The Time?


To say that it all began on an ordinary day would be cliché, so I won’t tell you that’s what happened. I will let you know, however, that there was nothing exceptionally amazing to distinguish this day from any of its predecessors.

If you believe life is a roller coaster, my cart would be the one that had unfortunately broken down years ago and was stuck dangling on the edge of the peak before the plunge. At least that’s what it had felt like to me. It seemed I hadn’t gone anywhere in months, trapped in the anticipation of something more than what I was living now.

I know most consider life to be a little less eventful than a carnival ride, but up until this point, it hasn’t worked out that way for me. For whatever reason, there was never a time when there wasn’t something happening. Whether or not I was enjoying what was happening was irrelevant, at least if it sucked I was never bored. Now with everything stalled as it was, I was anything but entertained.

Now, I’m not talking about the ‘I don’t know what to do right now,’ or ‘I’ve been sitting here doing nothing for twenty minutes’ types of boredom, I’m talking about the kind that creeps up behind you and swallows you whole. The kind you can’t escape, no matter how hard you try to sleep it off. It’s the boredom that storms into your life like a scratch on a CD and causes a single phrase in your favourite song to repeat for hours without letting you hear the rest of it. In a word: horrific. Continue reading Remember When I Was Sixteen…

Song I’m Never Actually Going to Finish


Scars of Gold – wip 

Verse 1 – play first and second part together
I miss the way you used to look at me
As if I were the most important
And your eyes held all the intensity of love
But then I had to watch you fade from me
Feel the ice cold of your gaze
It froze me solid
Stopped the blood in my veins That I could go from being someone’s treasure
To a half developed thought

There’s no such thing as closure
When one day you just stopped
Without explanation
But you still kiss me like there’s no tomorrow
Like I’m the only light you see
And I don’t get it
I don’t get it
Where the hell are you leaving me?

Continue reading Song I’m Never Actually Going to Finish

Finding Yourself – Thanks for the Post, Love.


Written by my delightful Dylan. Thanks for being so honest and sharing what you’re going through. 

Recently I got out of a toxic relationship. It’s complicated to say what we actually were, so we’ll just call them The Ex.

 They played with me and manipulated me until I was someone who I didn’t recognize looking in the mirror. After I got rid of them, trying to look at myself again was difficult. The amount of self hate I suffer with is difficult. It effects everything, how I wake up in the morning, how I get dressed, how I do my makeup. I can’t even sit comfortably anymore, trying to keep my shoulders drawn in and my thighs touching so I take up less room. I couldn’t listen to the same music they did either. Everything in my life was them.

 So I changed my life. I changed my music and changed the video games I played. I even changed the clothes I wore.

Continue reading Finding Yourself – Thanks for the Post, Love.

Creative Writing Project – Mood Setting


The lights went out. The entire tent was cast into darkness – the kind of inky blackness that you couldn’t help but lose yourself to. It stretched its empty hands into everything, cold and unapologetic, like smoke, relentlessly flooding everything it touched.

Not a soul stirred, and the silence was just as heavy and enveloping as the dark. Wait for a breath, pause long enough for another few, and sit in the nothingness.

The faint smell of smoke wafted through the air, just strong enough to be noticed, but only obvious in the way that a sound is made apparent in a dream – softly, almost imagined, and not altogether real.

Continue reading Creative Writing Project – Mood Setting

Hope the Writer’s Life Goes Well


The world is dark.

There is nothing. Nothing to exist, nothing to be – an empty void of all things forsaken and lost. Shadows like figures and shapes dance in the emptiness, their cries and voices unable to be heard through the blank canvas they have been painted on. Through the gloom, nonexistence runs rampant like a disease, infecting everything. It is quick to overwhelm all sense of being – thoughts, feelings, individuality – until all things have been consumed by it.

It leaves no survivors.

And the shadows who find themselves as spectors in the darkness become the very thing they dread the most. They breathe in the black film and murkiness of the thick air, feel the poison slowly creeping throughout their indistinguishable shapes, and they become one together. They become nothing, and they cease to exist amidst the soundless noise of the all-consuming sickness.

Continue reading Hope the Writer’s Life Goes Well