• Hey Guest,

    If you want to donate, we have a thread with updated donation options here at this link: About Donations

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    We made a Twitter thread regarding the Kenneth Law situation on Twitter at this link here if you would like to take a look. It shows that the journalists covering this case aren't objective and clarifies our position on the matter. If you would like to view the thread: Click Here
  • Hey Guest,

    The BBC, which have harassed our founders among others, is now actively promoting a seller along with the SN method in their news article here.

    The same journalists that have criticized this forum for promoting resources and are actively campaigning for its shutdown are now promoting these sellers and the SN method in this article for all to see. Academia has pointed this out, but they continue to promote the method along with making false claims regarding this website in the name of "investigative journalism" while ignoring the active harassment of our staff and previous founders.

    We have made a post here to debunk this nonsense and the false claims that the BBC has laid out in their article.



The flesh is just a vehicle for the soul
Mar 27, 2023

Yesterday is all that we have left
Tragedy, it took our final breath
I never knew, couldn't see this unfold
I held on to you, from our last moments
Into death we now go.

The flames light the dark
The sirens play our final song
We have a lifetime of memory
In seconds, it's all gone

If I had one last chance
I wouldn't waste it on my self
I would give it all to you
I would show my heart, my love for you.

The flames light the dark
The sirens play our final song
We had a lifetime of memories
Into the next life, our love will continue on.


fading innocence
Apr 27, 2023
i wrote a text about my abusive mom lol

spiraled into insanity
but u say that u dont remember
watch my last calamity
ur the reason i surrender

every day, a crippling pain
my body's sore, knees on the floor
ending your domestic reign
remember; i was only four

hit me, love me, drag me, hold me
raised a child, but trained this soldier
u say u want to set me free
yet ur always right behind my shoulder

your sandals creak; they start to speak
can't say a squeak; it's hide-n-seek
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Jill Valentine
Apr 6, 2023
This is chapter one of my science fiction dystopian novel Chronologue. Chronologue is based in the 23rd Century Future of America, and it's about AI and robots trying to take over the world and turn people into machines. My book can be found on amazon for anybody interested.
Chapter 1 The Agent

The year is 2257: Present day Washington D.C. Kew Gardens, Georgetown; September 24

The agent walked up to the door. He stood there for about 15 seconds then rang the doorbell. A young African American male in casual attire opened the door and frowned at the strange man; the mysterious man was tall around 6 feet or so and wore black clothes with a suit and tie. "Hello, Bob Jordan," replied the agent. Bob Jordan noticed that the man was carrying a large briefcase as he stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. "…My name is not Bob Jordan. Who are you? How do you know me?" "We met several times in our Black Ops debriefings," said the agent. "Besides…You already know who I am." Bob Jordan scratched his head. "My name…Is… Butch now." The agent chuckled to himself, "I know. I wanted to congratulate you in person this time for joining the force. I have been dispatched to answer any more questions that you may have. Even though you already know them. That's why you opened the door and let me in without asking why…You already know why I'm here." Butch scratched his head as the two sat down in chairs across from one another. "How? How do I already know? Black 2 Ops? The Force? What are you talking about?" The agent gave a perplexed look. "You mean you don't remember? You joined the Federal Bureau Republic. The age of our agents going on the front lines has all gone digitally now. With the number of riots and systematic killings in the year 2160 to 2230, we have lost over 610,000 agents in service to the government."

The agent sat his briefcase on a table and opened it to reveal a computer screen inside. He pressed a button on his shirt cuff, and the device began to display a brainwave screen of some sort, and a second screen showing footage of what appeared to be the inside of a room with a sizeable cryogenic pod big enough to fit a person within. "And so, we are no longer putting federal agents in harm's way anymore. From now on, all that is required to join the bureau agency is to type in a text "I want to be an agent." You don't have to send the text or insert a period or quotation marks. We will know who you are. We will hack into your subconscious and conscious state directly. You will receive your self-defense training and instructions manual, be sworn in and then debriefed, all via the Uerther Computer network. The process will take only 4 seconds…But to you, it will seem like it took 4 years, and you will be an agent…Even if you deleted some portion of the text, scrambled it, added special characters, or changed your mind just seconds before." Butch flinched back in his chair with a mortified look, "What are you talking about?! I didn't sign up for that!" The agent frowned in confusion. "Yes, you did. You and your girlfriend both did. Don't you remember? You both typed in the text about 6 months ago and have been agents ever since. You even took a tour to Israel and Moscow to help stop the rising Avalonism Threat." Butch frantically swung his head and trembled where he sat as the agent continued- "Yes, there are some remnants of PTSD you seemed 3 to have obtained in Moscow…Your hysteria." Butch stopped moving and widened his eyes, in sheer shock.

"It's not because you didn't know. You already do. I am merely bringing back up painful subconscious memories. The android attacks and all." Butch slowly turned over to the screen and pointed at it. "What's…That thing?" "You tell me," said the agent, "It's yours." "You mean…You're giving it to me?" "No," continued the agent. "You gave it to Agent Bob Jordan, and told them to bring it with me when I came over to see you." There was a long pause. "Hmm…Oh, yes. Bob Jordan is an alias that the bureau uses to describe all our agents. Bob could be Caucasian, Jordan can be both male or female, or possibly African American. It doesn't matter. All you need to do is consider us to be formless, and know to expect us…" The agent turned towards the device, and suddenly on the screen, the cryogenic pod blew steam and opened up to reveal a human inside. The man's eyes were expressionless as he marched from the pod; he walked around in circles looking not only entirely different from Butch but with a different ethnicity. "What is that? Is that a robot?" "It's you, as an agent. Right now, you are controlling him and will go to meet somebody." "That's me as an agent? …No, no. I'm not doing anything. I'm just watching what's happening on the screen." "You are doing something. You are controlling the android." Butch threw up his hands. "Look! I'm not doing anything! See? How can I control something? I don't have a button or anything on me! I'm not pressing anything; I'm not touching anything!" 4 "Bob Jordan. You are controlling it with your mind." "But how?! I'm not thinking of anything!" "But you are. Observe."

The two looked at the screen. "Think of something. Anything." Butch did, and suddenly the machine walked backward, turned around, waved at the screen, and started to do jumping jacks— Suddenly attuned to Butch's thoughts! Almost as if remembering to blink, whatever the agent did on screen Butch was aware of its movements! His eyes widened, and his whole body trembled in his chair. "There. You don't have to worry about getting killed on the line of duty or in service to the government anymore as if you were a police officer. You can live a normal life. Regardless of whether you think about it or not, the agent will carry out its duties; you will get paid in service to the government. When you receive a check, you will know it's from the government, but you won't be able to recall why. You can still work another job…But we prefer you and your girlfriend didn't, you understand. Also, know that you have already disabled all of your social media accounts. You just won't recall ever having any of them…But you'll know you removed them." "Where is he going?" went Butch. "You tell me. You know. I am unauthorized from knowing the exact location that you're going, unless you tell me, of course." "But…I can't…remember where it's going!" The agent sat back in his chair, "Well where do you think it's going? Think. And it will be the answer." "I…I don't know! Like, to go see a senator or something?" The agent's eyes widened. "Yes, that sounds about right." Butch's eyes froze in disbelief. "What else would you be doing Bob Jordan?" 5 "I…I guess I'll probably be going to talk about those robot androids the news keeps talking about."

"Yes. This is correct." "Then I'll probably be speaking to somebody in the military…? Then…Then I might…I think, like go overseas, then talk to other agents, then return to a base?" The agent gave a surprised smile, and his piercing emotionless eyes widened. "Yes. All those things, in that order." There was a great silence, the horrified look on Butch's face seeming to further widen the agent's grin. He closed the computer-suitcase, stood from his chair and began to walk out of the apartment. He looked over his shoulder. "Goodbye, agent Bob Jordan." "Wait! W-wait! Who…Who sent you?!?" The agent's eyes sparkled, and an almost splitting lively grin broke wrinkles over his face. "Your girlfriend sent me." Butch froze with his pupils shrunken in place, sweat pouring from every corner of his flesh. Even the corners of his nose and behind his ears reeked of sweat and angst. "She will be home in a couple hours; she's not going to be able to recall any of this of course. But she will already know what has happened." Then the agent went from the apartment leaving Butch behind in silence with the ominous closing of the door. The noise from the outside world's city seemed to trickle its way back in through the windows as everything began to be filled with life yet again.
Lost in a Dream

Lost in a Dream

He/him - Metal head
Feb 22, 2020
I've been wanting to do some creative writing that I could post on here for a while, but haven't gotten around to it until recently. I started working on something a couple weeks ago when my insomnia was really bad, and I kind of want to share it here. I'm nervous about sharing it, but hopefully someone will like the first part of my story. I might share more of this later if anyone wants to see it.

LonelyOfficeWorker33 only had one hour left before it was time to return to the daily grind, but he was still sitting in his bed, clad in under shorts and a worn-out T-shirt, browsing the forum he joined just a few months before on his smartphone. Its name was Ready2CheckOut?.org and he often found himself browsing threads containing detailed information about how to end his life in the section called, "Yes". Most days, he felt certain that he was ready to go, but sometimes he felt unsure. On those days, he sometimes read other people's threads in the "Maybe" section, but then something new would happen in the real world that would make him feel certain about suicide all over again. He felt trapped and had no hope for the future.

He still needed to make himself some breakfast, take a shower, and head out the door, but he had no motivation to do any of those things, so he just kept browsing. He was in the process of reading a thread discussing Sodium Nitrite, when he suddenly received a notification that someone he followed had posted something. Curious, he clicked on the bell icon at the top of the screen. As soon as he did, he was saddened to see that it was the post of a heart broken, elderly man he'd been following since the beginning of his site membership: HippieBus62.

LonelyOfficeWorker33 (whose real name was Jeremy), was saddened by the title of the post he clicked on – "Anyone Else Lost a Spouse? How do you deal with it?"

Jeremy furrowed his eyebrows at the screen when the notification took him to a thread created by a new member, describing how they wanted to die after losing their husband to cancer. This person also had doubts about suicide, and they were really struggling, so the first reply from HippieBus62 was a welcoming sight for them. He had the profile picture of a Volkswagen bus covered in colorful paint, peace signs, and flowers, displaying his love for the vehicle, and his freedom-loving spirit always showed itself in his words.

"Hey, I'm sorry about your husband," HippieBus62 said. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn't. When I lost my sweet Denise, she went quick, but it still hurts like hell after all these years. She didn't suffer long thankfully, so I can't imagine what it's like to watch someone you love so much waste away like that.

I kept some of her things and I talk to her, even though she isn't there. Sometimes I light up a joint and drink her favorite beer just to feel close to her. That's how I deal with it, but some days it just isn't enough. If you still have some of his things, maybe you can try something similar? I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope you can find a way to recover from this. Whatever you end up deciding, I'll support it 100%"

Reading the post caused Jeremy to get choked up, and he felt an ache in his throat as tears clouded his vision. Although his girlfriend had left him willingly, without dying, he still felt just as broken and empty as the people interacting in the thread. He didn't feel comfortable replying unfortunately, so he resorted to reacting to the two posts he read with hugging emojis, before logging out and closing the browser. Since it was a private browser, his online history was deleted automatically, and once that was done, he set his smartphone down on the mattress beside him.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Jeremy swallowed hard and tried to calm himself as he spoke in a soft, but shaky voice. "Fuck, why does that shit happen? It's fuckin bullshit…"

At last, he made the decision to get out of bed and crossed the hall to his bathroom. After doing his business, he stepped in front of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He had bags and dark patches under his eyes, the disheveled mass of hair behind his receding hairline was an absolute mess, and the scraggly hairs that poked out of his face told him that he was due for a shave. He had taken three days off from work to improve his mental health supposedly (one day for an hour of therapy), but most of that time was spent eating junk food, sleeping, and crying his eyes out over a beer bottle while watching old game shows on TV.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes at the mirror as he tried thinking of a joke to distract himself from his problems. "Okay, you lazy dick… Time to get ready for work!"

It wasn't much of a joke after all; he merely insulted himself. Still, he thought it was a little amusing, so he smirked at the mirror and chuckled. Then he undressed, took his shower, and got into his work attire after drying off and shaving his face. Leaving his bedroom and bathroom behind, he went out into the living room of his messy apartment, where he stepped over a bunch of empty beer bottles, a few pizza boxes, and an empty carton of ice cream on his way to the kitchen. Directly above his electric stove and oven (which had eggshell pieces, stains, and dried up noodles all over it) was a cupboard where he kept a small stash of granola bars and his jar of Sodium Nitrite.

After pulling the door open, Jeremy smiled at the box of granola bars. "Hell yeah! A breakfast fit for a king…"

He grabbed a couple from their box, but then he paused to look at the big mason jar full of white powder at the back of the cupboard. It had no label on it now, so it would be impossible to identify at first glance, and he kept it well hidden behind packages of noodles and cans of soup. Satisfied that his SN was safe, he slammed the door shut before returning to his bathroom to inspect his outfit once more; his khakis, thinning hair, dress shirt, and blue tie were all in order. This meant it was time to get back out there and be the best wage slave he could be, just so he could keep paying taxes to Uncle Sam and keep up with the bills.


This is where I long to be; La Isla Bonita
May 11, 2023
Here's a poem I wrote

Saying the things that I don't really mean
Unfinished thoughts, as if from a dream
Who is to blame for the things I say?
Saying it's me would be in vain

Thoughts, like specters, manifest before me
Words, right there, for everyone to see
The façade of normalcy, crumbling decay
Vermin of my soul is well on its way

Fragments of memories come to pass
My heart trembles at the sight of glass
Beating on, in the rhythm of pain
Turn off the thoughts, walk in the rain

The carousel spins, yet I remain in place
A karmic price, it's what one must face
On and on it goes, spiraling within
Thus laid bare, I drown in sin​


Pull u close & OD, I'll love u 'til I'm comatose.
May 7, 2023
I don't think you intended to hurt me. At least, not in the beginning but once it started, I don't think you felt that bad about it, either.

I've gone over all the options, and that's the one that makes the most sense to me. You see, it's one of three:

1.You didn't know what you were doing, but that doesn't work because you saw the effects it had on me and on top of that I told you. so that leads me to...
2. You knew what you were doing, intentionally or not, but you did nothing to fix it, and there could only be one rational reason why you wouldn't, which is...
3. You didn't feel bad about it. You knew what you were doing but nothing changed because you didn't care enough or maybe part of you enjoyed it, but I still won't allow myself to really believe that.

I'm not saying you didn't feel bad at all, just not enough. You apologized and made empty promises and temporary changes, and I do think those were, mostly, genuine attempts but the will to actually change wasn't inside you and I believe you realized that rather fast. That was the problem... you realized you weren't going to change, and you should have felt bad enough about hurting me but you didn't.

So here we are.


Apr 1, 2023
Small excerpt of a head cannon I've been fleshing out.

TW: Violence & Combat

Before the group stood that cold steel passage way. Its weary brushed steel surface loomed over them, casting a dark shadow on their features. Each one stood a couple feet apart, forming a small v-shape. Their firearms placed in a low ready. John was the first to act. He slid his trembling gloved left hand over the charging handle. The sound of the bolt slamming closed echoed amongst the room's enclosing walls. He ran his hand one last time over the wood grain furniture of the long rifle. The unit followed suit: checking magazines, sight picture alignment, and placing their safeties to off. Once the movement of rough cloth and clicking metal hushed, a silence once again fell over the room. Despite their readiness, no one moved towards the entryway.

"Alright everyone, this is it. It's time." John whispered with shaky breath. His shoulders raised to his cheekbones, arching his back into a much smaller figure. He moved slowly towards it taking small steps, his team following shortly behind. When he was against the right side of the door, his head turned up from the floor towards his second-man's face. Her eyes didn't meet his directly, instead focusing on the frame, however she returned the gesture with a small thumbs-up. His chest tensed with held breath: his head swiveled around the room. Everyone was in their position in the stack. With legs apart and his rifle out in front of him, his hand left the wooden handgaurd to grasp the spring-loaded handle.

As he pushed downwards with his hand, the click of the door handle was dwarfed by the ear-piercing entry of an explosion. Its shock wave forced through the door: deconstructing his body's structured form into bite-sized pieces. The red mist that now pockmarked their faces had barely settled before the accompanying pulse-fire came to meet what was left in the now open threshold. Bursts of electric blue light lit up the outline of his falling, bursted corpse. The tiny supersonic daggers punctured through his remnants in vain, their objective having already been accomplished by the trip mine. The fruitless exit wounds poured more of him onto the ground.

The rest of his comrades scrambled, with a much needed hastened pace, left and right from the hallway's funnel to its bordering solid concrete walls. Sharp shrapnel and the doors remains rained past them. The third-man slung his weapon, and heaved to pull his body from the doorway into cover. The rest of them pulled their hands away from the long guns and moved them up on to the sides of their heads, pushing into their ears. Agony crossed their faces, forming a mixture of blood and tears. Muffled metallic footsteps marched up the hallways funnel in a rapid pace.

Her rifle was not up to meet what came through the door next.

Edit: I accidentally put up the wrong draft
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Space Outlaw Bunny

Space Outlaw Bunny

autistic magical girl gender neutral
Apr 29, 2023
The first is an attempt to organize thoughts after a panic attack, the second inspired by a lecture. I've never written anything like poetry or sth, only short stories and one script. I decided not to translate them.
Napycham się gorzką czekoladą i ptasim mleczkiem
Chcę wymiotować słodyczą, ale nie mogę
Jem więcej
Czy to właśnie czułeś, gdy smakowałeś dziecięce ciało?
Zobaczyłem chłopca na plaży
Unosił ręce ku niebu
Odwrócił się do mnie
Czas się zatrzymał.
Wszystko jest czerwone.
Miał 28 lat i pił w barze
Balony wymykają się z dłoni
Jak wspomnienia ciał po wojnie
Chłopiec zaczął krzyczeć
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Professional Jaywalker
Nov 8, 2021
Hello, everybody. I've just translated a short story of mine that I would love to hear your thoughts on.

By a copy of an old, abandonware online game you found gathering dust deep within your computer files, even though you doubt any server would still be running after its prime thirty years into the future, you execute said game.

Instead of an expected regular menu screen, you see yourself directly into what could only possibly be gameplay, which is surprising, if not off-putting, as well as the fact the standard field of vision of the game seemed to go as far as the line of horizon. If it weren't for the dated 3D graphics, it wouldn't be any different from looking at an interactive photo of a landscape.
They are grasslands under the crescent moonlight of what seems to be Autumn. While looking to move yourself through the keyboard, quickly you realize that you are in control of something flying, movement that of which seemed to not have any applied physics. You look down and you see nothing, but your sight suggests you are controlling the camera of a third-person game.

Blowing winds in the form of white stripes take your view to a direction where the vegetation gets more bereft as further as you look, to the base of a slender mountain whom its peak pierces the sky above, hidden by swirling thunderclouds. With little effort, following the wind at unnatural speed takes you to a small construct at the entrance of a cave, closed by a vault door of bronze, just under the crackling storm above.

Soon enough, you find out whatever you're playing as has a collision code to it, but no visual or sound effect to indicate what you could be, as you try to pass through the door. Windows to your right allow you to see what's in the cave. The first window, the biggest out of two, shows an ample space with a dim light at the end, with what seems to be a man in deep sleep leaning on his workbench, surrounded by steam-powered paraphernalia and ancient arms.

The following window, on the other hand, shows a far smaller grotto where a heap of feathers tells you its a living creature by the way it breathes, also in deep sleep. Around it you see many open books and skinny bones. This time, unexpectedly, you manage to clip through the outer walls and into the grotto, unsure why that was possible.

Your controls are now locked with the creature at the center of the screen. The shiest sunlight appearing through the window you just denied the existence of. A warming breeze comes through from inside the cave into the grotto, like a breath tickling the feather of the creature, that slightly shakes at the feeling of it as it slowly moves around its nest, revealing some more of its form; your brief knowledge tells that it is, in fact, a harpy.

She opens her eyes.​

I feel bad just barging in and sharing this, but I know I will soon read any previous writing works previously and share my thoughts with you.
In another note, the landscape I was attempting to describe seems a little bit more like this:
Mt Thunder GRT


Sorrowful Pixel
Apr 9, 2023
Dismal Labyrinths: Trapped in the Embrace of Glitched Desolation

In the twisted corridors of a glitched realm, a desolate existence unfolds, drenched in the darkest hues of despair. Within the depths of this sorrow-soaked reality, trapped without a glimmer of escape, a solitary being battles the demons of their own mind. No savior emerges from the shadows, no guiding light pierces through the gloom. They navigate the treacherous maze of their existence, haunted by the absence of solace and connection. In the face of overwhelming despondency, their spirit persists, a flickering flame in the face of overwhelming darkness. The tapestry of their life, frayed and tattered, paints a haunting portrait of a soul yearning for liberation, yet resigned to the eternal depths of their own melancholic prison.


Angst Fanatic
Jun 30, 2023
I just sent a manuscript to a children's book publishing house recently. They said it would take 4 months or so for a reply. I won't be holding my breath for it. Anyway, apart from that I have nothing really to share. I am fairly private on these matters at the moment. Good luck with the post though.
Here's to hoping that you get a reply you like regarding it.


Feb 24, 2020
my friaend's just published a poetry book, lot of dark suicidal content, if interested: best,
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New Member
Jun 4, 2023
Any tips on getting past writers block? I wrote the first chapter twice and think it's amazing but I have NO idea how to move on. Im kinda debating jumping past the waking up thing and straight to the main character being a bit into their journey the next day and barely explain the morning/maybe detail a nightmare? Idk. It's post apocalyptic so PTSD makes sense for them. I don't want it to be too slow paced since I hate books like that. Thanks in advance.
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Professional Jaywalker
Nov 8, 2021
Any tips on getting past writers block? I wrote the first chapter twice and think it's amazing but I have NO idea how to move on. Im kinda debating jumping past the waking up thing and straight to the main character being a bit into their journey the next day and barely explain the morning/maybe detail a nightmare? Idk. It's post apocalyptic so PTSD makes sense for them. I don't want it to be too slow paced since I hate books like that. Thanks in advance.
In this case I'd just write something else, whatever it is


drugged up doll
Jun 1, 2023
the doll wanted a response. something, anything. no matter where it went, nobody noticed it. no matter how loud it screamed. was sound even coming out? it couldn't tell. it was just a doll, it couldn't hear, after all. it just kept screaming, or trying to at least.
the force it exerted upon itself built up the harder it tried to be heard until something inside it just, snapped. and it stopped screaming. if it ever was in the first place. it closed its mouth. was it even able to open its mouth? it didn't matter. something deep inside it snapped. it didn't know what. it had never seen its insides. it didn't matter what was inside it. it never mattered what was inside it. it's insides were never relevant to anyone who played with it. so it just didn't know.
but it did know that something had broken. but it didn't know what that meant. it didn't know what would happen next. no one did. the doll never saw it coming. no one saw it coming. until it did.
Any tips on getting past writers block? I wrote the first chapter twice and think it's amazing but I have NO idea how to move on. Im kinda debating jumping past the waking up thing and straight to the main character being a bit into their journey the next day and barely explain the morning/maybe detail a nightmare? Idk. It's post apocalyptic so PTSD makes sense for them. I don't want it to be too slow paced since I hate books like that. Thanks in advance.
ive been completely unable to create for the past few months. art/writing/nothing. until today. but like. you know when you think of something you *could* write about? like a feeling/situation whatever. like it just feels like, if i put in the effort, there's something here. i just started writing down little descriptions of those ideas. no effort into making it 'good', or even a real piece of writing. just an idea that you could come back to later if you do find the ability to write. and i found that lack of pressure to write well very helpful. idk if this will help you. best of luck.
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Mechanical Dance

Mechanical Dance

"I'm a monstrosity. An abomination."
May 28, 2023
I had a dream where I was a rock.
I was a tiny rock in a beautiful beach.

There were other rocks beside me
and a few plants bathing in sunlight.
The sea was our friend and a friend of an island,
I wondered if there were other rocks there.

I asked the sea if I could go to the other side,
it offered me a ride and we went together
to the land that was foreign to me,
I saw all my friends while I was floating in the sea.

I got to the other side and was amazed
by all the new friends greeting me!
There were rocks and plants I had never seen
And they were all happy meeting a new friend!

The sea took me back home after a bit
and my old friends were there,
they were all waiting for me,
they missed me and I missed them.

I was happy in that beach,
but suddenly, it all went away.
I woke up and cried
because I'll never see those friends again.


Jul 29, 2023
He often wakes in his dream upon a raft. It's hastily put together, decorated with skins off the back of some helpless pig, and creepers to tie the stakes together. It's rickety, done by his own bloody hands. He floats, lost in the grand rapids of his blue tomb, hot as Satan's sauna. The misting of a terrible storm begins soon after his conscience is placed in the body of his adolescent self. It would almost be peaceful, had he not been able to see the distant remains of the burning unnamed island. It's ashen as the sky, crisped by his own sins. He was a slave to Mother Nature, the very ocean she controlled, tossing him to and fro. At a certain point he found out he could slip into the water. Struck down into the harsh growl of an unforgiving marine, he propelled forth like a torpedo, swirling, and flushed down like a goldfish. He, however, was not the golden boy who had the common sense to stand tall against tyranny. He couldn't prevent the cracks that surfaced under the constant pressure of erosion. He wasn't sure he even wanted to anymore. It had all happened, and it would all die with him at the very depths of an unforgiving sea.


The one and only king of cucumbers
Feb 22, 2023
Behind heaven's gates she was locked away.
Lied to by angels who lead her astray.
Shining features with a smile as bright as day,
leaving crying creatures on their own to decay.
The fire in her eyes was long but gone,
though her feet continued dragging her along
through the never ending darkened mist
while her memory slowly ceased to exist.
In white dusty clouds encased,
with dark rusty chains embraced,
her longing soul forever enslaved,
and her very life at last erased.
Everything on earth has been left undone,
'cause the undertaker had long since been gone.
There was no way she could just carry on,
'hence no language was left to be spoken in Babylon.
So she stood silently awaiting her demise.
Yet again, meeting devils in bright disguise.
Hiding behind golden hair, ocean blue eyes
and a two-faced grin, she witnessed their lies.
The path to heaven is not marked by light,
that is the path to an ongoing fight.
So now she knows one thing for sure:
There will never be a cure,
as there is no salvation
after death, but only suffocation.
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disheveled cuss
Jul 11, 2023
another crime
i am stealing
all your smile
and your grinning
and your eyes
and their spinning
and this spiraling earth

another mile
and you're flying
with the flies
and you're crying
and i'm grounded
and dying
i'm a flightless bird


Aug 25, 2023
With a sigh and start it's time for me to depart;
Send me a letter; a note to my heart,

With pensive inquiries, and a broken quill, may I ask a question in my last seconds of will?

Is this indigestion or an emerging Shart?
That's what I wish to ask my still beating heart.

Rivers and Oceans, metaphors so bleak;
from decrepit soul I attempt to speak..
with hushed tones comes a murmur; a message from deep,
it ricco shades and echos, out came my answer, err, so to speak

with embarrassed dance and a hearty squeak,
out came a sudden smell, I could hardly speak.

I do not exaggerate when I say it was aroma so foul..
that one hardly dare speak of it now ..

Oh how suddenly that Shart came on that day
leaving me with a personal state of olfactory dismay;
and to those that wonder; does it stay? like a cosmic array, it simply won't go away.

and that's when I entered this personal hell
a discomfort and memory I'll forever repel
- I simply wish to forget, oh no, not dwell on that sad distant memory of a passing smell.

Oh well and I wish to say; when you read this will you make my day - go on,
say a hey? many hugs 🫂 to you all and enjoy the rest of your day!

Understanding Shart. https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=shart
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Jealous Blackheart

Jealous Blackheart

A Well Read Demon
Aug 25, 2023
After reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak I opened up my journal and wrote about death.
It was my response to the imagery of Death used in the book.
This is that journal entry.

He has a scythe. At least, I like to think so. Like a farmer. The reaper here to harvest a crop. All we do on this Earth if we are good is grow. And when either our soul is ripe or our stalk destroyed, it comes. We peel out of our mortal shell and he floats in, and with a great swing of his blinding blade he severs our umbilical anchor, letting us rise into the ether like a helium balloon.

A Scythe for Reaping.​
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Thornless Rose

Thornless Rose

Wilted Flower
Aug 19, 2023
Would you
Leave me a place
In your pocket
With you
I can lament
Feels like escape
Of all the
Pieces shattered
Across the
Peace that shatters
Across the
Street full of fears
Of all the
Horrors I dream

Autumn leaves and praise of past
Cornered grief and broken glass
Stairs up and down like the mind
Peers fall and proud as if blind

Without you, again
Exploring solitude
The taste of blood
Traces of god
Stains in bloom
Problems and doom
Stenches of shrooms

Empty room
On my skin
For the blood
On my skin

All your agglutinated abuse
Like honey in my bruised

Skin me
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Severe pain? But no gain.
Jul 22, 2023
Sticks and stones may break bones, but words can do far worse.
Before those monsters pulled out their phones, they should have considered the price of the hearse.
Deep inside they knew it was wrong, but what did it matter, what could really go wrong?

They laughed at him, they mocked him, they cursed his very name.
They stalked his little sister, and told her she only had him to blame.

That poor child couldn't help himself, the pain was too much to bear, for all he fought, this world simply isn't fair.
For now he's dead, his grave is just over there, and his mother's sobs fill the air.

His little sister is alone now, she chops off all her hair.
Her arms are covered with cuts and bruises, are they really hers? For they look just like her brother's, before the very end.

All because those bullies dared.
It all could have been avoided, if only someone had bothered to care.
Seered Doom

Seered Doom

A nihilist going through an unrelinquished Hell
Sep 9, 2023
A masochistic swing
A voyeuristic fling
Both actions cause a sting
They all seem the same to me

The shadows always fleet
An amalgamation to decease
Time's existence starts to decrease
Welcome to a new reality

Boredom to lead you astray
Coping with a merciless day
Getting out of reality all the same
Time for me to dissociate

One another, more of these beings pop
An armada of my body and mind drop
Tear another identity to make things stop
Humanity, I loathe and hate

Blurring lines among the fray

Villain attitude
Martyrdom understood
This place, I no longer wish to stay


Love is a poison that I can't seem to cure.
Aug 6, 2023
Can't put my whole stories here, but I have some favorite excerpts from stuff I've written:

She stared for a few moments. Mind racing and conscience conflicted. Thoughts loud and unrelenting, trying to convince her to go one way or another. Like being the rope in a tug of war game. Painful, being stretched and pulled to one side, then another, both merciless in their fight towards victory. Forcing their host to pick one side or break once more.

The soft music coming out from her first song of choice, "Self Inflicted Achromatic", settled the woman's nerves a bit. The echoes in the room made it…almost haunting, in a sense. The song itself was haunting already, but with the voices of the singers being melancholic and lonely already, having it echo in such a depressing scene made her shiver. It reminded her of those voices, different from the verbally abusive, insulting ones. Calming, almost motherly in nature, taking her through this process one step at a time. Making sure she's okay and taking care of her; encouraging her, helping her, getting rid of all of those bad thoughts. Like a guardian angel…whose motivations are questionable.

She couldn't help but laugh slightly at this situation. The kneeling made her think that she was praying to a god.
Oh please, with what I'm about to do right now? She dropped the bar of soap onto the floor and took the noose into both hands. There is no God. No God that would accept a dirty sinner like me, anyway.
She raised the noose above her head. It reminded her of a halo. A halo made of rope. How…ironic. A sardonic smile appeared on her face before she dropped it. It settled around her neck like a bleak necklace, as she let out another bitter laugh.
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Not Waving But Browned Off….
Sep 27, 2023
Finally I have somewhere to post my really, really dark poetry!

Razor in the bath.

Lying in the bath, shaving my legs
Surveying that smirking razor
Twin blades, geometric robot smile
Taunting me, glint of silver possibility
Mirror surface reflecting my dark
How much would it hurt?
To hack into this sack of skin
The way people used to open letters
Urgently, excitedly.
Eager for the ebbing scarlet river.

I remember the first bath after giving birth
Gazing on my battered body
Grisly, capsized vessel
Noticing red ribbons unfurling from the core of me
Curious eels swimming from my shipwreck
Wiggling free and clotting shoals.
Til eventually, I couldn't see my limbs.
Who I was.
Stain of motherhood obscuring all else

How long would it take, dear razor?
Til my head gave way
Fell back or slumped forth in surrender.
Succumbed to the welcome warm
Mouth ferrying sweet release to nervous lungs
To watch myself drain, satisfyingly as a child plays with sieves in a sand tray
Free of dreams, pain, regret, memories

Oh, to make husk of this mess
Peace of a wasteland
Oust every promise, that sits an unmade bed
Next to a half read book and dirty laundry.
Taking tea with the prisoners of my pirate conscience.
Eyes that briefly nested as flashing kingfishers in mine
Before flying on to higher trees with better views.
Cigarette words that burned neat round portholes into a liner soul that craved adventure.
Truths that stalk my thought as packs of lone wolves

Oh, to become nothing more than pelt
Heavy beige object to be hauled away
By another heavy beige object
Who will one day be hauled away.
By another heavy beige or brown object
Stench of iron scenting the room
The perfume of my inner strength
Finally making waves
Bright tide locking my print to the white bath
Last lipstick kiss to the world.


Oct 4, 2023
Well personally I vent through music, I made a song about my struggles with depression and social anxiety. I put it on YouTube, here's the link to it:

I would really appreciate if you checked it out but here are some of the lyrics to it;

I don't live on Earth, solitude's my home
An empty castle, frozen, cold
Got so used to being on my own
You don't know what it's like to be so alone
Will I be this way till the day I die?
Yeah, it sounds like hell but that's just my life
Got so used to being on my own
You don't know what it's like to be so alone

Here's something else I wrote once;

Tomorrow is my birthday but it's really just another day I keep on getting closer to my grave
I see things in the worst way, pessimism and depression got me feeling like a person you can't save
I turned to write to manage this, I thought that I could master it, Ironically, I turned into the slave
I'm covered up in bandages, I died a long time ago, this rope around my neck won't change a thing
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