<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<rss version="2.0">
	<channel>
		<title>Virtual Phun | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/VirtualPhun</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Virtual Phun</description>
		<language>en-us</language>
		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
		<lastBuildDate>1776081065</lastBuildDate>
		<generator>WritersCafe.org RSS Generator</generator>
		<ttl>15</ttl>
		<item>
			<title>The Marws [Blurb]</title>
			<description>A blurb of my upcoming horror book, The Marws.</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1849692/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>00:22</title>
			<description>Frequency.</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1845910/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Sonata of the Death</title>
			<description>Original song lyrics.</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1845892/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Untitled</title>
			<description>But it's now the day.Slipping off tonight into my fantasy again,No rollecoasters, no reality, no crashing waves,And though I hate to face the bed again tonight 'cause I'm afraid of the day,I know the nerves won't numb out as much as I lay wide awake.And though I hate the sleep becaus..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1786306/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>S&amp;#305;lver &amp;#305;n my m&amp;#305;nd</title>
			<description>Not a poem...</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1785836/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Facing the Music</title>
			<description>Prompt: Music is as taboo as explicit materials. You find a musical instrument in your kid's room.</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1785825/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Pride</title>
			<description>There's nothing to say,I got ghosts of words, I have loads of those,There's nothing to bleed, Another way to say what I have already preached,I'm making mistakes, afraid of what I make,The pain I make and the hurting I don't feel,There's a need to bleed, On pagesFor you to see, 'caus..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1785589/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Cruelty of Reality</title>
			<description>  The light flicked on in a second, and the horror began once again. And I had lived far too long and seen far too much that I'm not sure anymore if I should be happy that tonight was the last of my torture or sad that it was the last of me.But what was the point anyways? I cared not to know...</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1785588/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>The One to Call at Night</title>
			<description>Well, it's not a poem. It's a song.</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/VirtualPhun/1785585/</link>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>