Hey, I'm Cory, I'm twenty years old. Most of my friends say I'm insane, or mental and weird, and emotionally challenged, and I find my life to be very rough at times and this may be reflected in some of my stories. Any questions about any stories, go ahead and ask. My muse is flighty and never lands when it's of convenience to me. I am going to warn you that I may not get to a story for a while because not even I can escape homework, tutoring, and life [though it sucks] (no matter how I try).

E-mail: coryfarland@

Poetry and Prose stand as pillars, to hold the weak up in times of need...

(The following are all original pieces by myself, if you'd like to quote them, go ahead, all that I ask is that you give me the credit of saying it. Thank you.)

The world is cruel, nature can be cruel, and humans are largely cruel by nature. However there are those few who stand as lights to those without hope in the darkness of cruelty, and they are the products of the harshest cruelty and have overcome it against all odds. They are the ones who have overcome their limitations as well as what the cruelty has shown them, and that would be the darkness that lies in the hearts of us all.

Innocence
She knows not the atrocities or burdens of the world. She sees them, wide eyed, without understanding. A child holds her in their hands, squeezing unknowingly if she attempts escape. She is known to all, but lost to them in time. She smiles as she dances with child-like grace across dreams of fairy-tale princes and knights in shining armor.
She weeps in the night, her sobs giving rise to more as she fades again from another life, unable to remain. Drifting along the lives, she sees what they have lost, understanding enough to know she can never return to them.
She stands on hill, a mountain, a planet, watching whilst her brothers and sisters wreck the world that had once known her, yet threw her out without knowing what they did.
She looks one last time, shedding an unknown tear, fading once again.

Grief
He stands at open doors, grin wide as he watches. He laughs in your face at your petty sadness. Why should he care, it doesn’t hurt him, nor can it ever for he would only hurt himself. He smiles cheekily at you, turning his back and leaving you with the very poison he made in your mind, in your body.
He dances on graves with wide-eyed elation, inconsiderate of what he does. He only lives to bring those he knows an aching, a stinging, a horrid pain that can only hurt deeply. What he sticks his hands in always changes, it never remains the same. Whatever feels the coldness of his touch is stricken with a feeling that digs claws into their soul, refusing to give up ground with a small smile at the price of the piece they hold for him.
He is the Lord of Sadness, the King of Crying, the Emperor of Mourning, and he shall touch all lives in time, if only to see them once.

Things in life pass by in the blink of an eye, if you miss them you can't get them back. You may wish for a second chance, but that wish is wasted. Life sucks. That is the simple truth. I can't change it, no one can, and if you fight it, you're the one that breaks.