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.
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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.
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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.


praying machine
May 20, 2023
waxing passed me over,
i always seem to wane
trying to burn, discover,
i melt, leaving a stain

if vanishing means progress
i continue to fight
expected to light always
and yet still stand upright


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