Writers are the most beautiful of artists.
Complex and unique.
They make the most exquisite, beautiful jewelry.
Every word sends out ripples like water,
sometimes you can see yourself staring back.

Some turn their words into pendants shaped like hearts, and teardrops and all manner of things.
And you can hang them on your heart, or in your head and you'll never take them off.

A writer writes about their monsters, crushes them to coal and uses them to make a forge.

But I, no, a writer I am not.
My words bleed from me, half congealed from the half-dead body they spilt from.
The other half already dust because you must live before you die.
But some people die before they live.

My words, lonely, lingering, they long for more to write about than emptiness.

It was a cold, wintry December day.
I was at home,
sitting by the fire.
The fire was hot,
but from where I sat,
it felt like a warm blanket.
Suddenly,
my ******* started to lactate,
uncontrollably.
I did not know what was going on.
I lifted up my soaking wet shirt,
and put my hands over my *******,
in an attempt to stop the lactating,
but it did not work.
And then,
it stopped.
I squeezed my *******,
to see if they would lactate again,
but nothing happened.
I went to bed,
hoping this nightmare would be over in the morning.
But it wasn't.
When I woke up,
I went into the bathroom to perform my daily morning activities,
when I realized something on my chest.
A third ******!
I tried to rip it off,
but I couldn't.
Later that day,
at dinner,
I was eating a juicy, tender steak,
when suddenly,
all three of my ******* began to lactate!
I tried to stop them,
for they were lactating all over my steak.
Then, like before,
it stopped.
This proceeded for many days.
Everyday,
I woke up with another ******,
and everyday around six o'clock,
they would all lactate,
until one day,
the unthinkable happened.
I woke up.
I could not move.
I had no legs.
No arms.
I was a giant ******.
"NO!" I screamed.
Then,
as usual,
I began to lactate,
violently,
and then I exploded.

One look,
Unsure whether to accept it,
But after one bite,
My mind goes hazy,
It goes in different colours,
Like fireworks.
Baby,
Your love brings magic,
Your embrace leads me into a different world,
Your passionate kiss explodes in my mind,
Like a music blazing off in a club.
Baby,
Your feelings,
Every bit of you,
I cannot stop having you.
Baby, you are like a drug.
A precious drug.

I am falling out of it,
You cannot get my soul back.
It is too late,
A door that cannot be opened again,
Shut tightly,
I can never return back,
To the time,
Where we both were in,
No more,
Everything is gone,
Surrounding looks ghastly,
All empty,
There is no more direction.
No turning back.

It was a cold winter,
But I could hear my heart fluttering.
Fast but gentle,
Even though it was cold,
I could feel blood running beneath my skin,
Warm but gentle.
I kind of miss these old feelings,
Gold and gentle.

Here comes the rain tears,
Drenched in pink,
Softening the colour of the background,
All you can feel is gentleness,
These are the feelings of the sky.

Love is like a gas,
as you try to grasp it,
It just flows through your fingers.
It is never easy,
But like oxygen,
It keeps you breathing.
With the chemical reactions,
Love forms a heart in you.