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Monica, the gentlest rose that bloomed
in the shadowed valley of turned-out bitches
beat silver-taped hands against the floor, screamed
behind black zippered leather. The belted welts
cut in her back, the buckle marks where skin was
flayed, the heat relief that left red burns showed
dirty games her clients played. Monica, damaged
and flawed, expendable without white wings, who
trusted in a simple word to end the ugly scenes...
Along the barren ragged coast marked only by a scraggly pine,
in desolate unhallowed soil is where Monica lies.
| Raw, twisted, hyper toned due to the graph description of the daunting, dreadful and grisly final moment of a woman who I am sure had some beauty about herself but by the looks of it, someone had a time with carving her up.Roadside or bank style.|
Like some victim being described on Forensic Files or something like that Runes.
Sheesh.You got the edge.I would think that you could eat a sandwich fine while writing this type of material.
I think, like what if her life ending injury could be dysentery with brutal pressure applied.
It's creepy narrated to say, but that only means you were successful with intentions or aim of theme.
Good, awful (Violent wise) and for sure rough.
|| Posted on 2011-03-21 00:00:00 | by Rex Gold | [ Reply to This ] || Has anyone mentioned that this has the same sense of dread as Wordsworth's Lucy poems? This one most of all:|
A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
This is one of a series of poems that led some readers to believe that Wordsworth met, impregnated and murdered a girl some time around 1801. See what your lunacy does to me?
|| Posted on 2010-12-04 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ] || wow, i truly was not expecting anything like this. your title caught my eye because it reminded me of a song i like, alyssa lies by jason michael carroll, but boy it wasn't anything like that song. i can honestly say ive never read anything like this, i mean anything with this subject. and you didnt make it awkward and go into all the weird details, you gave us enough to let us see whats going on but then you left the rest of it up to our imagination. im not one to condemn people for their line of work but you made me feel some pity for her. you made me think she was a beautiful girl who just grew up in the wrong place. i really enjoyed reading this and now i think im going to have to go and read some more of your work||| Posted on 2010-12-04 00:00:00 | by scardnscared | [ Reply to This ] || this is good man. very good. raw. engaging. I like the paragraph/prose like structure. You made me feel empathy for this girl who I don't even know is real. So great use of vocabulary and imagery.|
And personally I think prose is a tricky beast to tackle on a poetry site because you have to get the length just right. If it's too long you lose them, if it's too short you never had them. You do a great job of riding that fence here.
|| Posted on 2010-11-12 00:00:00 | by Mister Fizzle | [ Reply to This ] || What is left of Monica when there is no one around to see her beauty/whats left of her? What becomes of her voice when the tones she utters are useless to the ears of man? Is potential destroyed when not percieved or is it the other way around?|
Sometimes the brightest light resides in the deepest hole..
|| Posted on 2010-11-10 00:00:00 | by Clayman | [ Reply to This ] || I had a couple of whores when I was young . I treated them well though I didn't have much respect for their spirituality . Nothing kinky or perverse . It's so sad , the fate of so many prostitutes , Carelessly used , thoughtlessly abused , and often enough actually killed . It's a treacherous world with little solace to be found in something as unsubstantial as words . Perhaps your words are a comfort to Monica , perhaps not , but sometimes that's all we have . Because of you I will dream tonight of women who have suffered her fate . Sometimes reality sucks . |
|| Posted on 2010-11-09 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ] |