Oh, no! It's Noah! 
Here are some of my writings! Right now it's just poems, but I plan on putting some of my other work here eventually.
Blood drips onto the ground as people sing of love, peace, and Jesus Christ.
"Noah, stop picking your scabs."
A coin falls into the well
Filled with a wish
Gentle hands
Embrace the coin
Long, white hair Flows with the Small body of water Beautiful eyes
Crawling
Crawling
I am crawling
I am crawling to your room
I'm at the door
Open the door please
Please open the door
I never liked scabs.
They just always felt so weird.
The thought of "new skin" growing over wounds just made me feel so yucky,
and I'm not even sure why.It's like I don't trust my own skin, but then what is there to trust?
The thoughts of a shattered man,
smear all across the floor.
Everything feels warm, yet so cold,
and for a slight second, time stood still.
Fleeting memories fade away
as they flow from his head onto the
faux wooden floorboards.
Forever lost,
the memories of what made him human,
but not the sharp, piercing pain that made him man.
I don't think nothing matters anymore
What do they do that makes them more important
Nothing
Nothing at all
A second brain, filling a room with drawers after drawers of index cards.
A man sits at his desk riddled with page after page of scribbles,
writing another thought on an index card,
before getting up and placing it in a box.
His life's work sits idle in archive boxes.
Blood flying through the air,
the body of a man lays still on the ground.
A crowd roars with delightment and sorrow,
the new middleweight champion has been decided.
Juicy, fleshy
One single hair stands solicely
In the sea of blood
A buring sensation on my arm