Sad Poem Book Novels & Stories

His voice sounded scraped raw. I stayed in the doorway. My pulse was suddenly loud in my ears. “I couldn’t sleep.” He set the laptop down and dragged a hand over his face. “Christ. This is— I’m sorry. That was— I shouldn’t have—” “It’s okay.” “It’s not.” He laughed once, short and humorless. “Your best friend’s dad with his hand down his shorts in the living room. Real classy.” I didn’t move closer yet. “How long has it been?”

This was what contentment felt like. This was what having your entire world contained in your arms felt like. “What are you reading?” I asked, noting the way she relaxed completely against me, trusting me to hold her, to keep her safe. “Poetry. Some old collection I found in the back corner.” “Any good?” “Some of it. Though most of it is very dramatic. Lots of tortured souls and unrequited love.” “Sounds depressing.” “A little. But some of the love poems are beautiful. Listen to this one.” She opened the book and began to read in that soft, musical voice that never failed to capture my complete attention.

Tammy The biting air might calm the burning cuts on her flesh, however, the gust is feeble against the aching pain that's rooted inside her. She can almost feel her heart shattered into a million pieces, a torment like nothing she has ever experienced before. Numb to any physical torture, the ghost of Tammy's body sits defeated on Sesh's lawn, aimless and lost like the souls entrapped in the Spirit World. Who knew words can cut more sharply than daggers? And I thought maybe, just maybe, I might have another ending.' Her mind drifts away as she's weakly throwing pebbles at the shimmering window above.

Turning the music off, I grab the lavender and put it in a tiny glass vase, and set it in the center of the long ebony black dining table. Walking out of the conjoined dining room and kitchen I grab my book, my water bottle, and a blanket. I set the water and blanket by the back door that leads to the porch, and the beach a little off, and head back to the kitchen with my book. Of human bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham. The book itself isn't bad, but from my point of view, it's terribly bland. I like more poetic works. But also a hint of darkness. The best example is the poem, In the Desert, by Stephen Crane, from his book The Black Riders and Other Lines. It has a sense of dystopia that I ca

An hour later, after searching for anything to help us within books that ranged from brand new to hundreds of years old, I huffed with disappointment and decided to stretch my legs; my pale finger trailed over the spines of books, dust painting my fingertip. Once I reached the poetry section, I smiled brightly. All around me were books from Silvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickson, Robert Frost, and many others that were like my old friends. Taking a random book off the shelf, I flipped through its contents. "(...) Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh "You enjoy poetry too?" A familiar voice spoke behind me, making my heart speed up as I jumped slightly. Turn

I don't need a sad book to make me feel worse than it is but once I've started I kept on flipping the next page. Who the hell wrote this book!? The Jamie I know doesn't read books and her giving me books is new, so I was a little curious and read it last night only to stay up the whole night blowing my nose from the sadness and the heartbroken words of the main character. 'Red' is the name of the book and when I start reading it, my mind always drifts towards Liam.

I stopped at the library door and smiled to myself. ‘Books are better than people. Books don’t hate on you for something you didn’t do.’ I pushed the door open and breathed in the wonderful smell of books. ‘Paradise.’ I strolled to the shelves and scanned through the books, reading their names off their spines. ‘It seems Dante wasn’t joking when he said half of his library was filled horrors.’ A book caught my eye, and I pulled it from the others. “Bone and Souls by B. Brian.” I read the name aloud and skimmed through the description behind it. “This seems interesting.”

To Be Continued… Find the next instalment of this series with book two Sad Girl Next Door.

The cover is worn and the leather is pealing off. I open it. Each page is all crinkled as if it's been used a lot. I look through the book. Poems? Each poem is so meaningful. Did she write this? INNER DEMONS: It's like a shadow in an eternal night It does not let you free it does not let you live in the light It takes you deeper into an endless tunnel It ensnares you with chains It pumps it's venom into your vains The darkness does not let it's prey go easily

-SHAUN- The conversation was getting so, so interesting since Kai was here. And this guy, Luke what took you so long. "Searching--- Behind the shadows---Change is possible" as Kai read the titles of the books one by one, the books that have has been displayed on the table between us. "Finding God and finally Sorrow --- all written by Jeremy Gloss himself," he finished with a smile as he glanced back to meet my threatening gaze. "You had these, huh. Sadly, the author died before these fictitious books were known to the world." Kai added.