watercolorpoetry

watercolorpoetry

This user account status is Approved

He slid the money across the money, and Clara thought slime should be oozing from his fingertips. Her mother grabbed the cash quickly, her eyes averted, and the man simply smirked. But Clara knew they would never be fully compensated for all they had seen. All they had lived through. So she followed her mother meekly out of the room, but all the while her fingers pinched her palms, plotting murder.

i strive to win this sandwich. I strive to eat this sandwich. I strive to bite into its soft bread, and lick its soft cheese off my fingertips. And this sounds weirdly erotic. And oh my god it really just is a sandwich. A sandwich that I want to eat goodbye

They hijacked the plane. Immediately, everyone felt it. The plane took a sharp dive, and the seatbelt sign went on as luggage rattled in the overhead compartment.

quest

This was a quest to end all quests, the most heroic quest of all - saving a planet. It was inevitable that Layne would come to this decision - to sacrifice himself for the people he hated, the people who never accepted him for what he was - but he would still do it. Whether or not he was alien, he would do it to save billions of lives.

coma

It was like being in a walking coma. No desire for anything. No desire to spend time with friends. Sleep wasn't desired, but it was better than everything else. That's what they don't tell you, how draining it is to even be awake.

if

"What if the sky was made of chocolate?" Alice asked. "The what the clouds be made of?" I replied, smiling. "Whipped cream!"

He was the celebrity in the room. With hair like caramel and smiles like candy, every woman in the room wanted to talk to him, to fuck him, to devour him. So instead of staying, he decided to walk outside with a freshly-lit cigarette and leave.

Writing requires improvisation. It means thinking up regurgitations in a new way to make your audience cackle with hurt sides, cry with slow heaves, sit with quiet awe. If it doesn't make the writer feel the emotions as she writes, then it isn't good improv.

He sat there, wanting to taste her, kiss her, consume her in one breath. Meanwhile, every single one of her instincts told her to escape.

There was only devastation. I cried the cry of a banshee, but it was ineffectual, insignificant. Everything had been destroyed.

load more entries

writing since 2011 · 37 entries · 36 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Sophia showed up.

5longest streak

36days written

0.3entries / week

on this day 15 years ago

Sophia wrote about clipped
“The silence was clipped, sliced at the perfect moment. The large figure flew through the trees, consigned to them without proper wings, and as it leaped to take that last climb, the boom reverberated…”

the words Sophia reaches for

eyesbarricadetouchsandwichfingersumbrellasatlegsuponhandsdesireroomstrivechildmutteredtransport