My writings...found again.

I stumbled across some old poetry/prose/stories that I wrote just a few years ago. It´s amazing what feelings and memories flood back...
They don´t have to make sense to you:

The little blue girl (I remember writing this in 1st year Uni almost without stopping...it was almost like a stream of consciousness..again, it doesn´t have to make sense to you! Don´t mind the format...again, I basically wrote this without a pause, never stopping to consider grammar or proper formatting)

It´s raining, she said, while looking at the people who were so evidently engaged at their beautiful dreamy raptures that they didn't even notice her tear-stricken face, that was overshadowed with the prospect that she would never remain a child, and that the fear of growing up consumed her and tore at her flesh. Her tormented twisted body wanted to escape the hellish realities of everyday life, yet she never told anybody, and she silently screamed from the inside...she silently screamed from the inside. She ran from faceless face to faceless face...hear me hear me hear me she yelled...Oh...
The blue tinted veins in her hands seemed to lunge at her throat, threatening to strangle her with their elongated grasp. Let me tear out her last breath, they screamed...she fears herself then she fears breathing...why don't we help her eliminate it they would say...softly blowing the delicious and dangerous words into her ear. Again and again she tore at her hands...let me be, let me be the blood that flows through me is seriously hurting me! Madly dashing through rooms of clay, she stopped at a little brook and looked at her reflection in the water...So this is who I am, she said, while looking at the sparkling waters...This is not me...Who am I, she asked and her veins replied you are the blood, you are the flesh, you are the infinite and the limited. Through you, dreams can become and they can dissolve...Through your actions you can die and you can live. Hear out your veins and feel the blue...look at the blue. Taste the blue for it is in you. Taste she did, and quickly slashed, ran the blood out from her grasp. Alas, alas, what have you done, screamed the veins as they did run. I have simply done the deed, she cried as the veins slowly emptied themselves into the little brook. Look, look, how your blue mixes with the whiteness of the foam! cried she foolishly with glee. Sick, oh sick, we fly towards the water, and you will soon feel what is the matter, they howled as they flowed into the brook. Her heart was feeling weaker, she was laughing her last breath. Oh, don't feel bad for me...for I feel bad for you, though I will die, I will not be a deathly colour blue, but white as pure as the clouds, there shall I finally look like I always should have. The blue which drains from my grasp will only help me pass...

Raw (written sometime during the beginning of 3rd year)

Your feelings are like snowflakes
In the wind, burning with intensity
And then fading upon my cheek.
They melt upon my skin,
Diluting the salty tears
From my own eyes which dry out
The flakes of flesh.
Why shun emotion when it could only open your heart?
If I cannot have your feelings,
Then let me stand in the raging
Snowstorm and feel the bittersweetness
Of each fleeting emotion, if but for one single moment...

This is just a snippet of an old journal entry :
------and the next day you wake up and take your last breath as you remember in the smallest corner of your mind the most beautiful sunset you have ever seen-----

I guess what I´m just trying to point out by all of this is that I should keep up with my writings...because some of them aren´t all that bad. I used to write an insane amount of poetry and prose when I was in high-school. It would be a pity to just completely stop.