Authors-Anonymous

No longer have I any reason to feign this smile, To fool the world with a grin, broken and hollow. No longer have I any reason to dam my eyes, To keep from drowning under darkening skies. For there is no one to make honest this grin, To make true the emotions sought within. No, no one to protect me from this torrent, To save me from this flood so abhorrent. On these broken wings, I had hoped to soar, On newfound thoughts of happiness, I did fall for. But cruel reality brought me crashing down, In the depths of despair, I fear I shall drown.

A dreamer, I could have been With fantasies flashing through my head But with so many dreams broken So many wistful fantasies lying dead. No fantasies can the broken mind paint No more thoughts of what i could have done Wishes long gone, now only a spiteful feint In this abysmal shell, dreams are there none. Broken in solace, inspiration runs dry With naught to nourish it, its hope recedes In the throes of perdition, the soul begins to die Hollow and numb, the emptiness secedes. Now but a broken vessel, void of all but life Not an end, only the beginning of my strife.

Look at him. That tool. He's just sitting there on the couch with a girl on each arm, while I sit in the corner, virtually invisible. They only hook to him because he's the generic Jersey Shore bugger, tan skin, sun glasses, and a thin stubble with part of it packed together because of his faulty smirk. They drink, smoke, all that shit. I hate it. It can't be good for him. I decide to leave, I go to the washroom to puke up my humanity. I step into the room and take a long look at myself. "Are you okay?" Asks one of the girls. I look at myself. The tan, glasses, and the stubble. I'm the part of his personality he destroys to impress people.

There's only one constant about the Earth; it will always change. Some people age, Asia takes a turn for the strange. The Doctor got younger, the TV got colorful Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, now people are mournful. The world is becoming more accepting, music is more noise. Highschool has drama and hate, girls chase boys. Shootings and hostages, it used to be just illness and the pest. Nowadays we scream from the gunfire and hope for the best. But the world has not grown darker, it's merely a different shade of gray. Yet it can be much brighter, like how we are finally accepting the gay. Prices went up, so did the population n

I just wanted to take the day off work. Spend some time cleaning up the house. Now I lie on the ground, arms tied firmly around my body, they're already falling asleep. He collects items of value around me, stuffing them into his worn out backpack. I squirm and turn my head. I catch a glimpse of something red before my vision is damaged. "Stop moving!" He shouts angrily, kicking my face. He stuffs a few more things into the back pack whilst carrying a sinister smile upon his unkempt face. Yellow teeth nearly the same awful shade as the walls behind him. He tosses the bag out the window. I can't see him. Then I hear a liquid in a c

Happy birthday to you. Seventeen years, and a face so young. We caught each other with the silver tongue. Me being there still feels brand new. I always knew I'd fall for you, I had a notion. Hair (currently) red like the fallen leaves, and eyes like the ocean. I'm lost in them, then you pull me out on cue. A kiss, the kiss of true love. I believe it gave the relationship the proper shove. My heart makes noise like the zoo. I love you will all my soul. You pulled me out of my cemetery hole. Happy birthday to you. I hope you have a wonderful future, I hope to share it. And then I'll see the full extent of your fantastic whit. Yo

As I stare into the never ending void of space above my home I tell myself "All these stars died years ago, but they still light up the sky." After a long pause I ask myself "Am I like them? Will I light up the world long after I die?" The answer is no. Few people care to know who I am, and even fewer people know who I truly am. I'm not a star, I'm just another particle of space dust floating until it's gone.

The old woman pushes the book across the counter, "There you are, miss." A young woman picks up the book, a story of adventurous pirates, one of great fame: Treasure Island. She's never read the book before, despite her near obsession with literary works. She stares at the cover for a short period, the image of the pirate captain and the young boy approaching a beach speaks volumes onto it. She opens her tiled rainbow satchel and places the novel kindly between her school science book and notebook, which are surrounded by miscellaneous items placed in careless areas. She leaves the library, a light smile upon her gentle pale face. She pushes

There isn't blood in my veins, there's ink. The ink screams sometimes. It wants out, to be free and shown to the world the magnificent possibilities and the inner imagination of my mind. I see things no one else can, possibilities and worlds nobody's ever even dreamed of. The ink in my body screams for the world to know. They must know the marvels. The thoughts in my head. I see it... The possibilities. There's so many possible outcomes of life and I review oh so many of them. What if I went left? What if I said hello to that person? What if a car came this way? I see so many possibilities, its food for the ink.

As the TARDIS travels through the time-stream we find both Teleena and Artist in the depths of the nearly endless and very much alive machine. Artist watches himself in the mirror as he wears various clothes in an attempt to form a new outfit. He currently wears blue jeans and a red shirt. "So, you're an alien?" asks Teleena as she watches politely. Artist's reply is a simple "Yep." "Cool. But you look like I do." "Well Timelords tend to look like that. Anyone could be one really. From Mary Poppins to the Cat in the Hat," replies Artist as he puts on a well fitted denim jacket. "What do you think?" The TARDIS makes an electronic noise as