Shortest Stories

he she

quiet dark, flame

hi, he; no, she



much angry singing

many ?s

1776 us politics? no

oh no xx00


Not really that good;
It hits hard when they tell me
I can't make this work.

Swiper, no swiping
Is what the girl will say to
The stealing, sly fox.

Listen to him roar,
that nasty brother of mine
without any goals.

Cover falls away;
An array of roads leaving
the dark that remains.


Why should I write couplets, poetry sucks

but when I run out of rhymes, I say "shucks".

Freestyle poetry


carelessly accessing school codes and databases every day

vitals are vital

violets are blue,
a poem doesn't need a title,
ask her later,
she says she won't have one vital


Wandering in silence,
Standing in a cold cave,
Void of all my violence
but you I cannot save.
Empty of my feeling
but I'm not in my grave,
Childhood was leaving
though I wish I did crave.
Behind me is the past,
Come and gone like a mist,
Oh where was I at last,
alas! I surely missed.
What does the future hold
for torn-up souls like me?
God wills us fit His mold,
He expects that of we?
Certainly I won't find
that which I am seeking
in the halls of my mind;
elsewhere I'll be peeking.


I feel cold
in the dark.
Here, now,
time wins.
hours i wait
in insanity blandly.
operational, handy
is the thing
with which
I distract myself
from the cold
that is finishing early.

Ode to a pencil.

Oh, pencil
with which I write,
which expresses my thoughts
and sets them in stone
as words.
Pencil, you are my worst enemy,
yet the use of your fine graphite tip
and the funny little pink eraser
grasp my freedom of speech
and pull out its full extent.
Pencil, you are my best ally,
yet those who try to teach me
make me resent you for what I have to use you for.
Oh, pencil!

Past, Present, Future

I imagine all the dates;
The times I've never had,
the things I've never done.
Every time I do I get sad,
knowing I'll never have won.

So I flash back on all the fun;
the games, the sights, the times
when all was lost to the now,
when I'd write like this and it rhymes.
In my head I say this vow:

I'll make tomorrow great.
Fix the song of my life
I must, and try with skill
to erase future suffering and strife
from me and all I will.

Short Stories

99th Grade Orientation

Welcome to the 99th grade. We know you've been around the block a few times, so we'll spare the details on academics. Here in the 99th grade, we offer a giant dome that you can hit as many times as you want and it won't move. There's much more than a dome that we offer. Here, let's go inside.

This is the library. The only entrance to the building is here. Our windows are plexiglass and don't open! This is a protection against the dark arts that open windows overnight and they never come back closed. Also the rats. We don't want them to get out. Anyway! Feel free to shout as much as you want in here, nobody has to read in the 99th grade anyway.

If you want to be a nice free spirit, feel free to roam the halls. We don't have class either. You can congregate in any of the rooms. Nobody really cares. As for the next part of our tour here, we're going to the roof.

Here you can see we have a swimming pool. You can do your work here on those days at the end and beginning of the year. There's no water, as you can see. It would evaporate too quickly. Global warming, you see. Let's go back inside.

As you can see here, we have Mike Wazowski chained up in a circular box to your left. Please ignore the rooms to your right. There's nothing in them whatsoever. Uh, let's continue.

The 99th grade is a challenging time for people your age. It is a time to overcome the Age Barrier. We're gathered here to get through this hard time in your existence. We also have the ability to strike down any person at whim. They get back up right now though. We need to go back to the 98th grade to get that fixed up, I guess.

That concludes the tour. Thank you for participating! Please report to your containment chambers immediately or we will imprison you with Mike Wazowski. See you on Geoday morning, everyone!