The Nexus of Writers

I groan as I sit up on the metal examining table, causing a searing pain to shoot up the back of my head. My throat burns when I swallow and my head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. As I slide my feet off the table, the world shifts sideways. The tile is cold on my bare feet as I walk unsteadily towards one of the four metal walls. I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool metal, and focus on my breathing. Once my head finally clears, I notice I’ve been changed into a hospital gown and a metal barb juts out of my left wrist. I pinch it between two fingers and wrench it free from my skin. I wince as I touch the hole it left behind, blood pouring down my arm at an alarming rate. The door to my bedroom bursts open and a tall boy with hair the color of a raven’s feathers and ocean blue eyes rushes in. “Lucas?” My voice comes out as a squeak. His muscles are tense as he grabs my wrist and shoves his finger in the hole, creating a hook in my arm. An involuntary scream esc

On February the 9th, this year, a book called  The Four Stages of Poetry will be published! The author of the book is Marysa Writes, the one that posts on this blog (not that there are any others out there; there might be, but I doubt it). Anyways, I have no idea how much it costs or anything, only that you'll have to buy it to read it, which is a heavy drawback, but you've gotta buy practically everything, nowadays. I would not be surprised if you have to buy friendships in a few years. So, enjoy free things while they last! For more information on The Four Stages of Poetry , you can visit this link ! I believe she will be keeping us updated on her blog, so if you're interested, keep an eye out on there ! -Mark Swift

     With tear-stained cheeks, the boy looked up at his father, interrupting the embrace. "When will you be back?"      His father's eyes held the sorrow of a thousand lifetimes, and although his face held a roughness, the boy knew it was a shield against tears. "Perhaps next month," his father said. "I'll be back and we can have a party."      The boy realized he would never see his father again. He wrapped his short arms around his father's big neck.       Goodbye, Father.      Goodbye, two-thousand-eighteen.      Goodbye, sweet nights.      Goodbye, laughter.      Goodbye, songs.      But please return to me. Please come back.      "When you come back, can we go back to Florida?" the boy asked.      His father smiled. "When I come back, we can go anywhere you like. If you want to go to China, we will go there. If you want to go to Russia, we'll go there. If you want to go to Florida, we'll go there."  

Author's Note: Sorry about this coming way later, I completely forgot about it until yesterday! ><><><><><><><><>< The Houses of Hogwarts is a four-poem series I have been working on. Credit to Hogwarts and the four houses (and their attributes) goes solely to the author of the Harry Potter series, J.K.Rowling. Houses of Hogwarts: Slytherin -------------------------------- Who dreams the most, And sets his eyes up high? 'Tis Slytherin whose ambitions Never run dry! They're clever and quick, And they care about fame, Watch out! Never a Slytherin, Was easy to tame! If you befriend a Slytherin, Always be watching your back, Because when you least expect it, They'll stab you in the back! --------------------------------

The shadows surround me, I have become their prey. My heart starts racing, I have no clue why. Impulsive decisions consume, Every thought I dare make. Too tired to sleep, Any my dreams gone bad, How long before, I crack at last?

Lark: Human, I want to celebrate my victory over Frankenstein Me: You mean the lizard who played dead in my room over Christmas? Who I swatted with a broom for three hours? L ark: Yes, the giant, six foot tall monster, whom I bravely saved you from. Me: Sure... (laughs softly off hand) sure, sure Lark. Lark: Hmm. I want a can of tuna for my feast. Me: Not gonna happen. And It was a tiny baby lizard. Lark: Next time I will leave it in your bed. Tiny? Really, well then why did you fall out of bed screaming like a wounded water elephant cat? Me: a what? Lark: I forgot about your 'tiny' human brain cannot handle such things as cat folk lore. Me: cat's aren't technically 'folks' but... Lark: THE POINT IS IM SAVED YOU FROM A MONSTER!!!!!! Me: (thinking quietly, yes, you swatted him once then took a nap. then, you slept on while Mr. D came and picked him up and put him outside. ) Okay lark. How about instead, I give you some hairball treats. L ar

The broken street signs protrude at jagged angles from the mass of rubble that lies before me. I stand where thirteen story walls of concrete and glass once stood; when this ruined city was still considered home. Where kids would run around all day with no worries besides who was ‘it,’ and parents talked happily amongst themselves from the park benches. But that was before. Before the bombing, before the fear, before I became the face of rebellion. Now I stand, staring out at the mess, with a group of Rebels behind me; each armed with pistols and three magazines of ammunition. I’m well aware Rebels isn’t the most brilliant name, but we voted as a group, and it was either that or The Ferocious. Despite it being horribly unoriginal, the name fits. We are rebels; fighting against the majority, opposed to their views, and trying to change their way of operating. As I begin my search for survivors, I pass by the old city church. I gave up on religion years ago, when they started creati

We began on a whim, a single moment in time when my lonely met your desire. I was not looking for love, but lust has a funny way of transforming into unexpected stories with an advancing plot. The details of your book made their way into my heart, spreading themselves onto the blank pages in my mind. The emotions grew through me like a disease, tumors in my being. My attraction was lethal, the holes left me spilling affection onto your blank canvas. I was not looking for love and I guess you weren’t either.

Alex's Pov As much as I hate to admit it, I am a puzzle; an enigma. I can be understood, but not without thought or attentiveness. I believe that's why I am in this program. Or maybe it's to map out the inner workings of my brain so the pretentious idiots who claim to be of higher intelligence can understand what it's like to actually be a person of exorbitant intellect. Breaking my pencil in half and flicking it across the room, I stare at the first draft of my admissions essay. "This is stupid," I mumble when my birth giver walks in the door, carrying an armful of groceries. She sets them on the table space in front of me, "It's not stupid. Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince them to give you this scholarship? You should be thankful." "Thankful for what? You're sending me to a prison!" "It's boarding school, not prison. Now, let me see what you've written so far." I hesitantly slide the paper o

Sometimes tying the metaphors together with double knotted word play isn’t enough to describe the pain behind the tired eyes and strangled mind of a poet with ropes around their pens, and strings around their head, connecting them to every word.

Beauty is an illusion of the mind, an opinionated decision to like what is seen, biased to personal preferences. I feel most beautiful when your eyes are on me, admiring all that I once believed was flawed. When your eyes flick down to mine, and a blush meets a smile, a collision of affection creating the most alluring memories.

It's all in the title.

The first part of my Guild Wars 2 Review is out now! Check out my game review blog as it gets a good start going! :D

If you want to participate in the January Haiku Contest or submit a response for the January Poll and have not done so, THIS IS A WARNING! February is approaching at TOP SPEED and is coming in TEN DAYS! Also, if you have any idea what post deserves to be Post of the Month, let me know and provide an explanation, because I have ZERO clue and would appreciate any help! -Mark Swift

Well...it seems like lots of people are anxious about squirrels lol. I wouldn't worry about it changing in time for the next one. Therefore, I will celebrate with an emu GIF. (Ignore the "You should be on LoopAway .com" part. It was the only GIF I could find.) Satisfied?

This poem is a companion poem to Marysa Writes' poem " Lion " ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>< Among the weeds, and plants that grow, A menace lurks, ready to strike. Coiled and ready, with fangs of venom, The Serpent lies in wait for prey. But never does it rush straight Like the Lion in its pursuits, Instead relying on traps and bait. And thus the Lion comes, its teeth bared, It roars and howls and leaps forwards. And just like that, the Lion's gone, Swallowed in the hole the Serpent made. Persistence rewards, and valor saves, But beware the Serpent's cunning, Which devours any and all.

Kyra came up with the great idea to remind everyone, but my War For Hogwarts story (well, Season 1 at least) has begun to be published on my Experimental Stories Blog ! That's it for now, I guess. -Mark Swift.

I can't believe how many times you guys have checked out my blog! I so appreciate your support, everyone! Please don't leave, yet, I've got some big things planned for 2019! Also, while you're at it, vote for the next animal featured in a GIF!

The next day they wrapped up what they wanted to do, and the day after they were headed back for Texas. For the first few hours of the trip, Myra just stared out the window, trying to tune everything out. She needed to think, although she learned that was impossible when traveling with extroverts.           But she tried her best, until John poked her arm. “Still alive?” he asked her.           Myra gave a half-smile. “Barely.” To her surprise, her tone was light-hearted. Did I just…joke? Who on earth accidentally jokes?           “Ha, you’ll survive,” John assured her. “I’ll drop by your place every few days so we can keep in touch.”           “What if I went to your house?” Myra countered. She hated being the center of everything.           John winced. “Um, maybe not. My parents don’t exactly…approve of guests.”           Myra got the message, and knowing how John had avoided probing her about her past, she decided to return the favor and avoid the topic. “What about e

Being a cookie in New York is hard. You could be stepped on and crushed or have difficulties with raccoons. Don’t forget being eaten alive! The hard part is that everything is so far apart. You can’t on subways or could fall into a sewer. Getting up things are hard too, ya know. You can’t get on taxis and buses or cars, and you can’t reach the counter in grocery stores; and three cookies weren’t so lucky. One was trying to push a grocery cart when toddler came toddling around. He got eaten. AND HE DIEDED! One was trying to get on a subway and she fell and got down run over. AND SHE DIEDED! Two were walking on the sidewalk and got washed down the storm drain and dieded! See? Being a cookie isn’t easy! Author's Comment: This is a cute story I uncovered from when I was 9 or 10. I believe the writing prompt was three cookies walking through times square. Prepare to see inside my sick mind. Mark's Reply Comment: You don't say...

Marathons seem to be a thing, now. Just wait, I can probably convince Kyra to do one, too! (It would probably involve Mark And Kyra Doing Dumb Stuff 3: How To Survive Boredom.) Anyways, enough about the possible future, let's talk about the definite future! A Marysa Writes Marathon is approaching, and will happen on the 24th of this month! (It's on a Thursday.) This will be the first marathon to include five posts rather than three, which is an edit I made after noting how insignificant Gabby's three posts in comparison to how often I post nowadays. The first post will be at 8:00 in the morning, then another will be at 11:00 in the morning, then another at 2:00, another at 5:00, and the final one at 8:00 in the evening. So, get ready for the third ever marathon on my blog! And perhaps submit your own work, and you might get the fourth one! Go forth and write! -Mark Swift

You have blessed me Time after time It’s hard to believe That you’ve changed my life The way that You have Year after year You’ve never failed You’ve erased this fear You will prevail You help me always And I can’t believe That You have saved A girl like me

Cold to the touch You need gloves If you want this Type of sad love I’m contaminated Darkened by what I have created A painted cast Upon fragments Of chipped skin Hoping this sin Will disappear With the wind It always blows Far away from Who I used to be These feelings Don’t mean Anything to me I should feel Something real But I don’t know How that’s possible In this cast It’s hard to move But I’ll be able to Once this month Has passed, it Won’t last me More than the Evening breeze Here one instant Gone the next The breeze west Will take away Every single Ounce of pain This day will pass These feelings They won’t last I’ll be okay Tomorrow is A brand new day I’ll be alright The next night Won’t be made Of fear and fright I’ll be fine Don’t worry The light shines I’m not in a hurry The sun will rise And the moon Will set I’ll be okay The breeze Will take Me away

Only one knows the pain I endured Only one sees the disease incurred Only one knows the hurt that I have Only one knows when I’m truly sad Only one see the life that I live Only one see the true efforts I give Only one sees because no one else cares He’s the only light, the only one here He’s the only word, no one else heard He’s the only blanket when I’m cold He’s always new, it never gets old Hes the only one I trust with everything Because people always end up breaking He never has and he never will His promises will always prevail He will never leave me standing alone He will never walk away from my home He will never hurt me and give me pain He gives me life, I will always speak his name Because it’s so wonderful to have someone Who will hold your secrets, telling you it is done He tells me the past is the past and that this fear Will always be temporary, it never seems to last When the world is quiet and my heart is silent You know what my mind can’t say You know the words that l

I have finally finished the form (I wanted it to be perfect; I failed) for submitting the literary works you want read. Go here to submit it! A few notes... Scratch actually went under a massive update January the 2nd, so I cannot vouch for the quality of the recording. If you want to be super nice to me, you can instead exchange your Read-Aloud reward for a cameo in my Watching Time story! It's your reward/prize, though, so make sure to do what you want. I didn't win the challenge, after all. The creators never win. I cannot be certain when I will actually get around to doing the recording. I have to do it when I have enough time to, and that's not very often, but I will get to doing it, and I will do everything I can to make sure it's done as soon as possible !  Now go forth, write, and wait endlessly, for I am almost done with my next part of the Watching Time story!

I, out of boredom, have decided to go through the different statistics on my blog. First up, top three Countries by views! The United States of America (logical, since most of my readers are probably people I know in real life, and I live in this country) with 10,303 views! Germany with 662 views! (Thanks for the support!) Russia with 98 views! (Awesome, thanks!) This shows that either a lot of people are accidentally clicking on my blog, or people are continually coming back. I bet it's the latter, and I appreciate everyone who's reading from these countries, and others! (Honorable mention to Brazil, which has 20 views. It's a low number, but I think most of them are recent, so I can't wait to see if my Brazil reader(s) keep coming back!) ________________ Second statistic will be Operating Systems, which is cool. Windows (the one I use) comes in with 5,125 views! Macintosh comes in second with 4,260! Not that far behind! iPhone has a total of 1,234! A

Good morning, beloved readers! I’ve been thinking a lot about the freedom that Christ gives us, and wondering … are we stepping into that freedom? Taking hold of it? Living it? Do we believe in that freedom? At  the conference  that I recently went to, the theme was missions. Reaching the nations for Christ. Pouring out your life for the sake of the Gospel. Going boldly into dangerous situations in order to tell every soul. I heard radical stories and saw hearts passionate for Jesus Christ. When this kind of radical living is on display, fear often sneaks up on unsuspecting persons such as myself. That sounds terrifying. Would I be able to bear such things? What if I’m called to physically give my life? So the question is, how do we fight this fear? And how to we get to the place where these Christian figures are? Seemingly fearless and excited to follow God wherever He would lead. No matter the cost. 1. You must have an encounter with Jesus Christ. And I don’t mea