http://slow.writerscafe.org/KnivesB The original writings of author knives of sunshine en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776021567 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 great, thats just wonderful.first i find out that you told her to lie, and tell me that she didn't know what happened, letting me assume that she either made you up or you were dead, then i find out that you have had regular contact with her, but haven't had the nerve to contact me.I dont know what .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/765712/ unto my lips doth the blood of thy precious petalsflow sweetly into oblivion.our love - a dying, delicate flower,casting it's crimson lifelines to the winds.perhaps, a newer, more beautiful bud will open it's soft skirts of gossamer velvetand envelope us in the warmth within.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/758847/ "oh, how simply wonderful, what a wonderful christmas!" Doris Maerson imitated in a nasal voice, " I always enjoy sitting around an overly-large table, drinking wine that will get me into years of debt, and bitching about so-and-so's daughter's laughable horse riding abilities, or mrs next-door's ba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/755120/ Imagine a gigantic nose, with mount-everest-of-all-pimples residing faithfully bang in the centre, with two large, brown eyes, small, pouty lips. and a massive forehead attached.yup, thats ma face.as awful as this may seem, that really is my face. seriously.anyhoo, on with life we wend. my.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/750817/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/750810/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/750809/ into my heart you go,where sapphire and crimson rivers flow.where long, winding roads make paths to travel my body.into my heart you go,  where my soul, like an ocean gushes and falls,in a never ending,heart wrenching cycle.into my heart you LEAPwith joy,where cries of delig.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/749043/ just my thoughts......... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/743578/ she was born alone.no-one loved her,no-one cared.she lived in a house full of shadows, it wasn't her homeit was the same at school,she tried to make friendsbut, no-one wanted to be friends with the" weird child"soon, she stopped talking.completely.that way, everything was clearer.edges wer.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/742957/ written about 4 months ago. was really depressed was exploring "pain" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/742943/ i once met a boy called xavier. he was the son of a saudi traitor, and very handsome. his mother was french, and had fled the arab empire. i lost contact after he went back to find his brother. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/742931/ everything i seem to do is wrong.i'm never good enough, or i've somehow disappointed youi see you nearly everyday, yet i'm just another toyto be thrown away when i've become "boring"i'm not hurt, as such, but confused, sad, angry, and curious.what is it about me the wil.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/741804/ horror, a version of the well known "dolly" story my own take on it. hope you like. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/741412/ St Petersburg, Russia 11.sept. 2010.it was cold.as it generally was in russia.Klara Ivanov sat by her daughter, gently pulling a comb through her hair and singing gently to herself."Mama, will Daddy come today after school? " Alyona, her daughter, asked her .paused, as if in deep thought. The q.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/734341/ thriller/ love book. my first one. please be patient. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/734339/ i walk through the door with my hopes highmaybe, today, they won't ignore me, or make fun of my drawings.i say hi, to no replythen carry on walking to the classroom.maybe, they just didn't hear me.at lunch, i don't eat..it's just another dagger to stab the open woundof my emotions with.another .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/734337/ forgets to close the doorto turn off the tapsto pay for things in shopsthe names of her familythe end of a                     sentenceHer train of thought thunders through the ghostly stationsshe blooms and withers in a momentsuddenly.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/733318/ i felt her like a bag of tricksone perfect somersaulting laughi marvelled as her tiny heartbeat brightly on a photographi waited for her to appearpart best-beloved, part enemynot of my flesh, yet of my bloodmy baby sister yet to bei never got to hear her cryor stick a plaster on her kneeplay scary m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KnivesB/733309/