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Four times a day,
we help you
get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
Hit publish.
Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
Sometimes, in the darkest parts of the night when he's curled up on his side and unable to sleep, he wonders what would have happened if he hadn't gone to the conbini that night, if he'd been ten minutes earlier or an hour later - where would he be(more)
birds i cant name and bugs i never see in the daytime start their age old conversation, probably an argument over some primordial mystery into which ill never be invited; the moon looks sternly at her children and they cower in the bushes, branches, on the asphalt and in(more)
During the late summer afternoon when the house is empty and the air is heavy like a blanket, Greta spends hours powdering and plucking and painting her face, every flick of the wrist a victory in maintenance, in correction, in discipline.
I am the little words that pass you lonely. I am the gasps and the screams and the pain. I am the hollow end, the painful push, that last little bit of hurt you can take.

I am that painful thing that reminds you what is to b(more)
Sometimes I just want
To be alone
Left with just my thoughts
And with my words
In a place free of judgment.