Apr 24
Hannah Campbell's picture


Just a precursor, I understand how bad this is. This wasn't a formal story; it was literally just a writing exercise with me listening to music and trying to write something. And it's a first draft, there was absolutely no planning of the characters, setting, anything like that. So maybe if you like it, you can build on it, or anything like that. Also, know the story is ended up becoming really morbid, so do not read this if you are uncomfortable with hearing about violence or death.

She clung onto her mother, blue eyes wide and filled with tears. "What's happening?" she cried aloud, tugging on tight to her shaking mother's skirt.
     Her mother looked down at her daughter, and tried to give a trembling smiling to console her. "Come here, my sweet daughter." She carressed the soft cheeks of her daughter, and scooped her into her arms. "Everything will be alright, it's okay," she murmured.
Jan 12
Hannah Campbell's picture


Nothing flows from my mind,

no ink on the paper, 

no words on the screen. 

Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap.

I have nothing to say.



B-o-r-e-d .

Still empty. 

Writing just to write.

It's become a chore.

Something I once used to love,


I'm now forcing my fingers to hit the keyboards

but instead of their usual frenzied panic:

just blankness.

I feel nothing, but think everything.

Yet I cannot transfer it to paper. 

Jan 01
Hannah Campbell's picture


Dec 18
Hannah Campbell's picture

The Coldest I have ever felt.

The coldest I have ever felt. 

I have never liked the feeling of cold but rather curl my feet up and down vigorously in an effort to return some blood circulation to them. I zip up my coat all the way and stick my nose in the inside and breathe out hot air. I scrunch my wet hazel eyes up so much that their hoods cover them up revealing only the part of my eye closest to the nose bridge. 

But as I stood out in the cold last night I enjoyed the feeling of the freezing. I turned my face to a blast of wind and inhaled in my nostrils the most glacial subzero scent and felt it swirling around in the caverns of my lungs. I slowly unbottoned my beige cardigan and held it above my head allowing it bellow in the breath of winter. I peeled my eyes open and permitted the gellid wind to come in and take residence in my skull. 
Dec 14
Hannah Campbell's picture

Goodbye Aleppo [What Makes Me Angry - Syria/Politicians - Pt. 2]

Goodbye Aleppo,
I say my goodbyes
and I give your children my prayers.

I shall always remember your children
as I have, a witness, watched them die
and watched the hearts of their caretakers turn black and wilt. 

Goodbye Aleppo,
All your childrens' faces have been burnt crisp by a missile
and turned yellow and starch with their dark black eyes stuck open
and a permanent look of horror left on their faces.

I have watched since the start of this holocaust,
but nothing did I do,
and now it's your last hour and your last day left on Earth. 

Goodbye Aleppo,
Forever in my prayers,
we always say "never again"
but why does it happen once more?

I do not know why human darkness is here,
its darkness both black as the depressed
but red as the blood of the innocent, forever unceasing.
Dec 09
Hannah Campbell's picture

The Adults

I don't know. 
Maybe it's just me.
But does anyone just watch the adults?
Begin to know them intimitely? 
I like to see the stories behind their faces. 
Like how one's mouth carries the resemblance to a toad
And one has deep, saddened eyes with a Roman nose?
One has a sprightly, bright eyes and twitchy, perky mouth?
Or the other has a stern commanding gaze with a mocking smirk?
They don't notice it.
But I do.
I like to read. 

Nov 23
Hannah Campbell's picture

Poppy Song

i. Spin me around;
let go of me and I shall come to in a bed of red flowers.

ii. Ping-pong, the poppies knock their heads together
as the wind, she dances through
her luscious black hair curling around their stems
tickling softly with intention, filling the night with bubbling giggles

iii. but her lily white fingers make them jealous,
and her blood red dress starts their crying shrieks

iv. Oh no, one tiny, freezing seed fell into my mouth
It's a hard cold lump blocking the lung passages

v. Is that hollow crying pain from my tears or the red petals? 
I don't know any longer--
the salty eye water blends with the sky colors
and the stars dance but they shouldn't because they're stars
only you should be dancing, and that's because you're you

vi . She picks me up on her silver, aged wild goose,
Nov 02
Hannah Campbell's picture

Is life a light in the darkness, or light with darkness?

      You know, I often wonder, Is life a light in the darkness, or a darkness in the light? It is the most basic question every human asks themself, every sentient being occasionally ponders on. Or a question in which plagues their very existence with its utmost badgering, belligerance and importance. How come our own existence is a paradox, in and of itself? That our planet was perfectly positioned in relation to the other celestial bodies to support the condition for life? And that life has both the power love and to kill?
Oct 12
Hannah Campbell's picture

I Still Have a Chance

     I remember the morning when our school's principal before block two had announced over the intercom that five Vermont teenagers had been killed in a car crash. At first, I was a bit surprised they had announced it. Were these students from our school? What happened? And mostly, I was fairly confused. After all, weren't there several things that happen like this all the time? It's all over the news, something like: "Dad killed daughter to get back at her mom", "A Mom Says She Asked Her Kids If They Wanted To 'Go To Heaven' Before Killing Them", or "Two teens dead in Riverdale double shooting". Those are just a couple quick headlines I found on a Google search just now. So many senseless deaths in the U.S. happen all the time, everyday, hundreds upon hundreds of deaths. What had these teens done that set them aside from all those other innocent peoples' lives? Why was their death so important?