Where "writer" is a working title.
Writing for readers and reading for writers.
Five-Hundred Eighty-FourThere are songs I can't listen toFive-Hundred Eighty-Four by Pensive-Brony
Television shows I can't watch
Experiences I can't do again
This is of my own volition
I lost my filter somewhere
along this ride I was unwilling to take
I am aware of the consequences
but I'm always willing to accept them
I've become stronger
I can bear you, and I can
bear her, them
But I can't bear myself
UnknownYou wanted to see me goUnknown by Pensive-Brony
For petty reasons, the teenager's way
There's an easy way to do it, you figured,
Since I certainly couldn't stay
The form of which is far more great
Then death by suspense or surprise
The path you chose for me is self-destruction
In which you assured my demise
One DeathA deep red the color that was spilled flippantly amongst the threads that weaved together to synthesize a familiar formation of domestic carpeting. The color itself stood out amongst the beige fibers visibly, and due to its liquid state, it stubbornly infiltrated the fibers, effectively remaining there permanently.One Death by Pensive-Brony
Immersed within her own gratification, Sophie took out her old rag and wiped the used knife clean. One kill, that was all. One kill would suffice to ease her corrupt conscience, or in kinder terms, poignant curiosity. The manner of death would certainly attract the attention of the police, but Sophie was well aware of their distinction; she intended for the obscenity to become public.
Sophie was not particularly idiosyncratic. Though most killers possess their own eccentricity, she was not as profound as most of the other damaged hearts, if such a description could even satisfy the discretional values of a killer, or rather than the absence acceptable morals. Sophie si
Year FourteenCompromise at every turnYear Fourteen by Pensive-Brony
No one wants to hear your words
Interrupted all the time
Your pity isn't worth a dime.
Sustaining life with just sensation
Welcome all, our petty nation.
Wisdom bestowed to those who know:
Wisdom's found where experience flows
And after everything in life
Remember it was worth the strife
And every headache they have granted
Makes the idea well worth planted
And now I realize in this ending
It's only principle I'm defending
Follow blindly down this road
Where conscience tells you where to go
Knowledge passed in realization
Prior experience and specialization
That's something a freshman learned
It's matter of privilege; must be earned.
I wrote this many months ago
In hopes to say by now I'd know
I'm 15 now, and in a way
None of it's useful to this day