Post your writings, others critique.

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The girl sleep around, dirty superficial, ratchet,
Podcast worldstar, datpiff social media feed,
Face marked upon, stare like hit by the hatchet,
Swamp-ass bottomfeeder, return her back to sea.

Sickly communicative,
Misbehaves, they call her bitch cunt,
Always manipulative,
Cast her, away with the little litter runt.

Sputter sprock fuck this bumbaclot rock,
An example of why evolution should stop,
When a bitch like that gets upon loose cock,
Wobble and rock, a baby 9 month drop.

Welfare hoes.

hey its a me, the cool guy guy

All the people who work from home, comfortably but gently motivated to do what they do, get paid, earn their living and sometimes on the side a hobbyist career which can bloom into something financially worthwhile like their world tours, album sales, bestseller listed indie development comedic monologue sitcom plays that earn a million each day starting from modest places and with immodest questioning -- is it fulfilling or sustainable, a no is likely your answer, but with constant pursuit and professionalism, with getting your ass out of bed early in the morning and without distractions, people manage to do what they do from the comfort of their home. Small beginnings to achieving dreams of grandeur, the keys to success and living a life full of content enough for a self-help book on achieving your dreams. If I can do it so can you. Anyone can achieve what they want if they set their mind to it. Go in search of your dream. Be the best you can be. Be the change you want to see in the world. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Yet I stay here browsing 4chan to see if my ironic thread gets any one-word replies commenting on how funny I am, hoping that tomorrow will be different.

>>9441856
> Woman hating POC detected.
> You got cheated on... Get over it.

Oh and you suck at writing.

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>>9441890

Amy steps outside. Cold air to breathe once more, life-giving as water. She looks up for once. The act of lifting her head feels ritual-like.

Tonight the sky is washed black. An apocalyptic flash of sheet lightning breaks open, lingering. Gone.

Time had ended, in that moment, for that moment. All possibilities were possible. At each ghostly fork froze the freedom to choose any foreseen direction. All were taken whitely at once. How possible is anything. Amy’s heart flutters.

Lagging thunder rolls in overhead, implodes, huge and subsonic with rumbling down to her core. Massive adjustments of air. Settling giants. Suddenly you understand why the Greeks did it. With a tingling in her fingers, Amy becomes an ant, nay, smaller, a mite. And the hillock becomes an entire cosmos of limitless direction she can never reach the end of, will never find the meaning of. Vertigo swoons her head. Her eyes roll. Weak-legged, she kneels, overcome by faintness, some profound weightlessness, something almost religious -- and for a fantasy of a fleeting moment, almost raises her arms in surrender to the sky and devotes herself to unfathomable Gnosis. But she would never come back.

Flinching, she returns, to the now. Jaw hanging, unattended lock of hair swishing over her eyes, chest rigid, sphincter slack, she breathes worldly air, vaguely underwhelming oxygen. Molecules. Explainable in terms of explainable terms. Electrons and nucleus components. Outer shell 6e, inner shell 2e, nucleus of 8p and 8n. Diatomic non-metal, electron configuration 1s2 2s2 2p4, atomic number eight. Strength returns to her limbs. Blood — erythrocytes carrying bound oxygen, leucocytes feeding on pathogens, plasma carrying all sorts of goodies, thrombocytes/platelets with nothing to clot just yet — circulates. As a matter of fact, Amy stands. There’s some grass clinging to her knees. She brushes it off and looks over her shoulder at the yellow-lit doorway. No one’s there. But the glass-clinking, bantering, chair-skidding, table-knocking sounds of joviality float
to her. They sound oddly near in the motionless night air, with nowhere to go, as if they’re just there, right behind your ear.

>>9441890
t-t-thank y-you??

>>9441890
Nope, too real. Please delete this.

>>9441856
not as good as the one you posted yesterday t b h

Like mother's morning dress, summer sun's church best, bristling bush and warmth, like the deck chairs which stretch their limbs, scented primrose gently soothed and the sweat on my brow was almost like it wasn't.