Scratch Online

My Submitted Writingread all

• obsessed with you - by thomas clare

  I don’t have to eat for days on end, and when I see food I can turn away. I don’t have to sleep for days on end and when I see my bed I can look away. But with you I cant. Your everywhere; but nowhere In my dreams, in my head and in my face, and I hate you for it, Because when I turn away your there, when I look away your still there. When I see you with him all I want to do is jump in front of the semi speeding down the highway. Tie the…  Read Full Story »

• what a silly little plonker of a fuzzlewizzleplonkadonk - by thomas clare

  A purple fuzzlewizzleplonkadonk, Whizzed down the street, Ran around a corner, Climbed up a tree. The purple fuzzlewizzleplonkadonk Stole a doughnut from a shop, Picked an apple from a tree, Ate a burger from a stand. That purple fuzzlewizzleplonkadonk What a little plonker, What a silly little plonkadonk, With that purple fuzzlewizzle.  Read Full Story »

• you feel weightless - by thomas clare

  You are standing at the edge of a very steep drop. Peering over, you see a tiny stream trickling through the valley beneath you. You look around; perfect, no one is here to stop you to give you a second thought. You listen curiously to hear any sign of footsteps, but the only thing you hear is the cold wind whistling through your ears. You run your fingers through your hair recounting the events that got you to this place. This horrid, dark place, where roses are bred to prick you, where razors are only sold to cut you, where…  Read Full Story »

• an unexpected monster - by thomas clare

  It looked repulsive. Imagine the most disgusting thing in the world and guaranteed it was ten thousand times worse. You could almost call it human if it wasn’t so damn ugly. Worst of all, it just popped out of nowhere and started wailing like a newborn child. The toxic fumes that wafted off the body were nauseating; I hate it and everything about it, its wet strands of hair sticking straight up as if it was shocked by 1000 volts. It should have been put out of misery, out of my misery. “Honey it’s a boy.” “Oh joy…”  Read Full Story »

• we all do it - by thomas clare

  Fast slow, rough or gentle, We all do it. Long, short, thick or thin, We all do it. For pleasure, for money, on Halloween, We all do it. First time, second time, in front of the TV, We all do it. Old, young, hard or soft, We all do it. At home, at a party, in a hotel, We all do it. Where or what do you want to read.  Read Full Story »

• the last page is all i really need - by thomas clare

  The colours were all grey Like a brand new colouring book Full of interesting things. But plain Lifeless And boring You stepped into my life And put crayon to paper You helped colour in the lines Trying to attain perfection As we got farther into the book The crayon turned into a colouring pencil And we didn’t care if we went out of the lines Because that’s what life was about Colouring outside the lines. We shaded and drew patterns And soon the colouring pencils turned into markers And that’s when it looked tattered When we coloured outside the lines…  Read Full Story »

• this is all i need to say - by thomas clare

  I miss you That’s all I really need to say. I don’t need to turn it into a simile or a metaphor Because there is no need. I just miss you I don’t want to get all sappy But I probably will I want to let you know that I really miss you Plain and simple I miss your smile and your face I want to miss your eyes But I can’t remember what colour they are I want to miss your laugh But I can’t remember what it sounds like. And I know you miss me too But I…  Read Full Story »

• He must of forgotten about being minty fresh - by thomas clare

  It was nearly the end of class and I was getting distracted from the many bodies in this overcrowded room, but one particular boy struck me as intriguing. So I watched him as he rummaged through his grey and tattered drawstring bag muttering words related to bad breath and something to chew. An orange voodoo doll pinned to the side danced as he shook the bag; his search was in vain so he had to change tactics; he began to empty his bag, pulling items out one by one and ever so carefully as if everything in his bag was…  Read Full Story »

• in between the lines - by thomas clare

  hidden. in between those lines no one can see you feel you smell you your alone. Isolated. with no one to talk to to touch to be with. misery is your most common emotion. but sometimes you settle for love for you can see all those who walk past you can touch all those who seem to care and you can smell the ones you long for. yet they still can’t see you. but in the midst of the loneliness. something moves in the shadows behind you, someone you love someone who has broken through the twisted, jagged spires of…  Read Full Story »

• Make him stop - by thomas clare

  he wants to stop but he can't he is addicted to it. he's “fine” when he's with someone its just. when they leave and the door closes the feeling of loneliness seeps through the cracks of the door reaches up and grabs him taking over his mind controlling him using him hurting him breaking him till nothing is l e f t but blood soaked sheets and tear stained pillows and a shaky hand resting a bloody blade on his bedside table with a broken heart full of broken promises and a doctor’s appointment card ripped up on the floor.  Read Full Story »

• bruised - by thomas clare

  She is staring at the paper, casually turning the page. Her eyes glance up at the closed door and back at the editorial; the opposite seat is un tucked waiting to be occupied. She taps her fingers in a steady rhythm, falsely predicting the arrival of her girlfriend. “strawberry Italian soda and a Caesar salad.” Called a lady from behind the counter emphasizing on the “A” in soda. She slowly raised her hand, not wanting to get out of her seat in fear someone else would take it or her date would see the empty chair and leave without her…  Read Full Story »

• I wish to be heard. - by thomas clare

  Speak out, Speak louder No one’s listening. But I wish they would I wish they would hear the silent screams of the children, I wish they would listen to the wise words of the old, Instead of ignoring there cries. I wish they watched The words that escape Our words, our pens, our pencils and our minds. Maybe they do listen, And they pretend they don’t care. But with every scream we voice. They die a little inside. And soon they will be a mess. And they will care. And we will be heard. We will be heard.  Read Full Story »

• My shadow - by thomas clare

  The one person who is always there for me; Following me, Scaring me. The one person who does whatever I do; Copying me, Frustrating me. My fair weather friend; There when it’s sunny, but ditches me on cloudy days. The one person who plays with me; Dances under the street light, Puts on shadow puppet shows. The one person who helps me; Remove glare from the light, So I can see my book without squinting. Why can I never hug you? Why can I never hold your hand? Why must you run when I try to catch you? Why do…  Read Full Story »

• I made it smile - by thomas clare

  It was twilight; the sun had set and the mountains were bathed in an ominous blue glow. I was walking my dogs - a German shepherd and a short haired Chihuahua – we were walking the normal route to the beach; through a ravine and a small field. I have never walked to the lake this late before, truth be told I was scared. Every now and again Sparky (the German shepherd) would run off barking, I didn’t think nothing of it because she is a strange dog and she often runs off barking. I was coming out of the…  Read Full Story »