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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.

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The flashing lights grow closer, but the cries of my 6-year-old sister have quieted. To my left, I see the car driver, my brother, lying motionless in the road. Rain hits my legs. No. Blood drips down my body. I can no longer feel my own pulse. Relief washes over me; I won’t have to face the agony of losing you. I think I die. I hope I do. But the light never ignites, only an empty darkness that feels like home. We can’t lose her either I felt the rejuvenating pulse throughout my whole body. I resurface, broken but breathing. Turning onto the gravel driveway, I wipe the tears from my face. Bracing to greet my parents, I plaster on a genuine smile masking my sorrow. Taking my keys out of the ignition, the story crumbles. I made up the car crash simply to pass time. No glass, no screaming. No loss, no love. The pain is just as real, the guilt, the confusion of inventing a nightmare just to escape my mundane routine of school, work, study, sleep. I stare at the grey house in front of me, like it’s a stranger. I wonder if I am the kind of person who needs tragedy just to believe I matter. I never wanted to survive this quiet life, wanted only to stop pretending I’m okay. I walk inside, the beige walls welcome me. I say hello like I haven’t imagined my own eulogy. I eat dinner, talk about school and about work. No one knows that I die every day in a place they can’t see.

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Maladaptive Daydreaming

The flashing lights grow closer, but the cries of my 6-year-old sister have quieted. To my left, I see the car driver, my brother, lying motionless in the road. Rain hits my legs. No. Blood drips down my body. I can no longer feel my own pulse. Relief washes over me; I won’t have to face the agony of losing you. I think I die. I hope I do. But the light never ignites, only an empty darkness that feels like home. We can’t lose her either I felt the rejuvenating pulse throughout my whole body. I resurface, broken but breathing. Turning onto the gravel driveway, I wipe the tears from my face. Bracing to greet my parents, I plaster on a genuine smile masking my sorrow. Taking my keys out of the ignition, the story crumbles. I made up the car crash simply to pass time. No glass, no screaming. No loss, no love. The pain is just as real, the guilt, the confusion of inventing a nightmare just to escape my mundane routine of school, work, study, sleep. I stare at the grey house in front of me, like it’s a stranger. I wonder if I am the kind of person who needs tragedy just to believe I matter. I never wanted to survive this quiet life, wanted only to stop pretending I’m okay. I walk inside, the beige walls welcome me. I say hello like I haven’t imagined my own eulogy. I eat dinner, talk about school and about work. No one knows that I die every day in a place they can’t see.