[love/rhyming] Short Poem, possible song

If you were rich
and I was poor
and I had money
and you had more
I'd still buy for you things you adore
because for you I can afford
things that shimmer and do not bore

things to show how much my feelings grown
things for you and you alone
because for you I can safely say
for nothing else I feel the way
should poverty come
should death come too
I'd be satisfied with only you

[Fiction[Whimsy/Fantasy] Paper, Clean That Room!

A short story for a friend, and it turned out to be weird and sorted and why 6 pages? I do not know.

“PAPER, THIS ROOM IS A MESS, I thought I told you to clean it?” Her mom scolds her as she walks in and sees her fondling Kitty.

“You did?”

“No excuses, clean it, NOW!” She exclaims and slams the door.

[Fiction[Comedy/Psychological] King Worry Prince Frantic / Paranoia Hill

^ That is a work title.

This was written last year some time by myself, with insight provided by my friends one of which being my internet spouse.

It's predicated around two insanely unstable people and has further been built upon but this was the first instance, a short story.
ENJOY


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[Fiction[Comedy/Parody] TV Ball

Now for something a little more fun, I was just talking with my friend and internet spouse? Slaren
http://slaren.deviantart.com (and some Tumblr account I can't remember.)

And for some reason I just thought about a bunch of inner-city youths playing a game that I saw in my head as a child kicking a TV while wearing a pair of work boots. And I guess it just expanded from there into some perverse parody of all sports and poverty inner-city areas.

I guess you can read some thoughts on the idea if you want, these excerpts are fairly "rough" in terms of finality.
Comedy is definitely something that comes to me a lot easier than drama and fantasy, but I'm trying to work on that particular area.

Check it out after the jump

[Fiction[War/Psychological] Working Title: Evident to Some

A young woman adorned in a lab coat, generally suited for that of doctors and specialty civilians, slowly passes through an open door of a higher ranking military official than herself. She carries with her a folder designated to one of her more recent patients.

This particular doctor specializes on what goes on 'between the ears' and she's here to bring concerns to her immediate superior, concerning one: Trevent Sawyer.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Handel.” The older gentlemen greets the good doctor from the confinements of his desk, itself adorned with miscellaneous souvenirs of war.

I've made a blog

I write, nothing fancy, I'll update after this with a post.