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Slow Death


Author: rememberplaydoh
Elite Ratio:    4.19 - 78 /103 /60
Words: 130
Class/Type: Poetry /Misc
Total Views: 1158
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 948



Description:




Slow Death



Little by little
I'm dying inside
A little piece goes every day.
Each fragment, miniscule,
not seen by others...
felt by no one but me.
Shards of my heart
break off into nothing,
shattering, disintegrating,
becoming like dust.

Moment by moment
my life drips away,
like a slow-bleeding wound;
my soul will not heal.
The cuts and the scars
bleed tears from the heart.
My essence, my life,
my soul disappears.
Deep inside I languish
...my time is running short.

Teardrop by teardrop
I give myself up
to the poison I'm choosing to drink.
Each mouthful, each swallow,
filled with pain and anguish;
a stinging poison
coursing through my veins.
Antidote in hand,
I close my eyes and weep,
as I let the life drain from my body.




Submitted on 2006-09-05 20:46:27     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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Comments


  Well... like everything else... when your body becomes addicted to the poison, it becomes emotionally and chemically dependent upon it... and that creates the cage.

What I like about this piece is that it hyperventilates in a sense that you can devolve the feeling of exhaustion to your readers. To me, that is an accomplishment because it requires a lot of verbal maneuvering and good judgement.

I think the simplicity of your piece's aesthetics worked for you... going to that direction. It made it easier to rush through and break to pieces. It also made it easier to find that philosophical core that makes it a poem.

Well... I know about addictions. And this piece - if it is a concept of art imitating life in a personal perspective - is definately a necessary step to recovery.
| Posted on 2006-09-06 00:00:00 | by ANGELO | [ Reply to This ]
  It;s a [censored] when life comes down to this, but you relate the collapse so well. I sincerely hope that whatever liquid gets spilled, it is only more ink upon the page. I enjoyed reading, John.
| Posted on 2006-09-05 00:00:00 | by coyote | [ Reply to This ]
  a critique huh? *polishes brain*

well first off, i thought that the language was a bit simplistic, and ive seen more from you, but enough about that for it didn't make the poem.

i saw some remnants of a form you tried holding this poem to. not like pentameter or anything, but moreorless a silhouette you tried to keep this piece conformed to. i think that by looking up some synonyms for some of the over-common english u might have used here, you could fit into that rhythm, tempo, and syllable count you were looking for

ie:
the confused guy who rambled to the walls of his place of recluse

OR

the duranged hermit

see what i mean?

next was the content, well-touching to a certain extent yes, but this piece felt quite transparaent somewhat.

the imagery was thin and light, much like eating a salad, not filling. i think what you could have done to spice this up a bit...i'd have to say the language, to step up the level of vocab just a lil. other than those things, i would say this was a decent write, just wished the language was a bit more complex, but who am i to say anything right? just a personal preference

Blessed Be
Loquacious Mind
| Posted on 2006-09-09 00:00:00 | by Loquacious Mind | [ Reply to This ]


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