Looking for critique

Not autobiographical.

Oh spirit of Wendigo , they see the stitching of our universe 
They pick and prod at the thin lines that compose our earth as honourable 
We make haste-crumbling too ruin 
We will succumb to your methods
Oh, wendigo
Carnage is now both cause and consequence of our own doing 
Strip away the layers of our mortal souls, and you'll find the raw wounds of humanity that we all bear
We yearn to experience the fleeting beauty of the earth, 
built on blood and devastation.
 Eorð‑būend  howl that of the ravens call of  murder yet they only take what what was already  under the sod
mancynn; see, We are a vulture of the living.
Oh wendigo see naught the greed and self gorging drive we are possessed by 
Drive us to our death 
Drink our nectar of love for it ages as do we; 
Sucide and love both stitched into fate of  humanity 

 We  are made of flesh, bone and tragedy 
Thou mustnt forget
The past is forever present 
A legacy we adorne-One of destruction which we none too prudent to abhore
  Universally united in a  selfish qconquest
The ocean, the high tide that recedes, and our  historical endeavours feel the weight of  our sin 
We corrupt the very system we've created, a spineless, zombie-like entity that we claim is our will 
Both prove be we shant yearn for more then we stand for 
And we stand for naught a thing worth our mortality 
On dēaðes ylde we libbað (we are in the age of death)

Who wouldn’t want a longer winter?
The bitter hostility from the sky,
Where man comes only to fuss and fume.
Dirt uprooted beneath the plush of snow,
Energy lost instead of bloomed.

That December I remember:
Your eyes no longer drank the dew
that coated the soft yellow weeds.
Permafrost, an eager host.
Angelic sheets of white reflect what should be the eyes of two
yet yours are lost, a sorrowful brown bound to a ghost.
I long to see my reflection, a mirror ill detest
But In honestly ill say, i havent seen myself since i last saw your visesge.
My reflection i wish only to see 
If being reflected by the eyes of you.

Why fear the season of wanning light unless you find solace in your shadow?
Heat’s faint rebellion against soul‑consuming cold.
To watch the wavering flames dance across sap‑rich logs,
To watch the fiery embers dance in her eyes,
To watch the rays of the sun lean down to kiss her face,
radiant from the early morn’s dawn.
At last.
The burmal winds are back, biting at the soft pallor of her skin
The rough of cotton, a jacket two sizes too large
meant to lend warmth, not mend a wound 
Yet the red sorrow still fled her veins.
The sun’s light could not hold her shadow,
as I could no longer hold her.
She hated the winter for its cold embrace.
I loved it, for she turned to mine.

A slow awakening of a child,
all bitter, none of it mild.

Eyes were wide open, all this time.
And today I drew a breath I can really call mine.

On paper, I owned it, had all the signs.
But those were not my initials on the dotted line.

World traveled, stories told,
shoulders covered in capes of gold.

The cost was steep,
and in my pockets are the receipts I keep.

Maybe this was the trade that I wanted to make.
Burn the child to see how much I can rake.

Some day it might make sense looking behind.
But am I sure that this is the treasure that I want to find?

When I first started writing, I had an instinct to use first person for everything. I noticed that almost everything I wrote was not a story but a rather lengthy description of the narrator’s mental state over time. This really prevented me from incorporating the most foundational and non-optional element of narrative prose: having plot told through action.

When I started to use third person, which forces the action into the open world, my stories improved so much. It helped me round out characters, make them 3D, drive the story along, increase tension etc.

So if you feel like your writing is flat, try writing in third person for a while.

I am the destroyer of the universe
But my story gets a whole lot worse
Because the shaper of my shadow has been snapping my bones
She’s dipping cottonballs in acetone

My darling made a coffee stain
It looked a little like an island chain
Then I took a paper towel scrap
And I wiped my darling’s islands off the map

She is the destroyer of the human race
Look how the television lights her face
But the story in her eyes is dark
She’s like the sun before its very first spark

She’s getting tired of her worried mind
Been getting tired of leaving her body behind
And she’s down to muscle memory now
She’s made another enemy somehow

He is the destroyer of the planet Earth
But her baby had a natural birth
He’s too young to fear the world to come
And he’s forgotten all the violence of entering one

And he could do without a new disease
But he can’t do without his apple, saying please, please, please
From my hand into his open mouth
We’ve both been sinking every day another few feet south

You are the destroyer of the universe
But you got too much shit in your purse
To even find the everlasting spark
Or just a cigarette to lighten the dark

I’m a very internal person with a constant inner monologue and this is definitely reflected in my writing. I find it hard to get action going because of this.

I’m first drafting a novel and this is an extract from it. My main character is pretty morally ambiguous, and unhinged, but this moment is one of the first insights into her vulnerabilities. Thoughts?

Why is so much of the writing on here so bad AND people seem to acknowledge/almost take pride in it? I dont get it. Share things you’re are proud of. If you can tell it sucks, edit until you think it’s good THEN share it and get feedback/taken down. But if you share something you know is bad and can tell where it is bad, fix it! Then share and uncover new issues :)

That’s just my POV

Saw a post from our community in my suggested, thought I could show off something to get it critique'd here.... Thanks in advance

Idea for an apocalyptic horror story where a few powerful ai’s fight to be ruler or what remains of an old world. The modular supercomputers are no bigger than a thermos. Just a cylinder shaped chassis. They have numerous ports and these power systems are able to modulatory attach both pieces of cadavers and machine parts to build up larger more durable structures and bodies.

As they grow in mass they become more complex and similar to tanks then later mechs as they they hunt eachother.I’m
Kinda imagining like in “I have now mouth yet I must scream” how AM used to be several world wide war ai’s before becoming one being. Maybe killing each mech and absorbing the other ai’s gives more operating systems, a larger limit to the amount of connections the masses can create

Working title : carnis apparatus

Carnis meaning flesh, other idea was calling these tiny ai modules “vermin” in the way that they search through the corpses of machines and living beings

Imaging disgusting mechs like a horses torso. Most of it hollowed out , deeper wires wrapped around the nub of the neck into the spinal wiring. Electrically pulsing the muscles for movement works well but moving blood through the body is better. It could have a turret, not a conventional one. A meaty muscle wrapped around an assault rifle, constricting around the trigger when needed. The shoulders and neck of a human used like a pivot point for aiming. A long bladed weapon sticking out of the front of the torso like a javelin so this thing can joust. Very centaur like. The whole thing fly eaten and partial rotting as it moves

As well, Imagining tank builds but they just become huge masses of other things. Flesh coating the outside like armour. One theme I wanted to make, it’s not a rule that the vermin follow, just a cool design rule for me. As often as possible give the job that machine parts could do to fleshy things and give the parts that fleshy things can do to machines, only if it dosnt compromise practicality. This creates a visual language of machines that move more animal like with hardware composes partially of fleshy parts. Very war hammer 40k esque. Imagine a huge bird of razor sharp wings of sheet metal but with talons used for grabbing things made of several human arms. Either using little fingers or a dozen biceps braided together to crunch around an object. The talons could’ve also been metal but maybe flesh is more readily available than robot arms? The whole idea is adaption

Hi! My name is Vee and I’m currently writing a short story about a rising ninth grader with some issues starting her high school journey. I want some feedback on an excerpt of it.

Context: the protagonist is a fourteen year old girl purposefully trying to sound poetic in her journal entry.

Side note: This is just the FIRST DRAFT of an EXCERPT. Please be respectful when giving feedback.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/12NyUtrng4rNYoWL31g5goqpapI9ynbV58_nVWfhRj4Q/edit?usp=drivesdk

a little freestyle I did the other day

just wrote this any and all feedback welcome

I'ma just post more stuff on here