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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Glad Gamedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Runes
    Elite Ratio:    5.29 - 790/815/281
    Words: 132
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 779
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 881



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Glad Gamedots
    -------------------------------------------


    I hate mornings the most. French-pressing coffee
    from broken beans, and facing the same mirror
    I smashed the night before because it held some secret
    sameness of her I didn't want to see in my own reflection.
    The tired ritual of brushing yesterday from my teeth and hair,
    painting war circles around each eye while the rainbows
    shift on my wall from a window string of crooked prisms
    I collected when I played your little Pollyanna...

    I'm glad you're dead today.
    I'm glad you don't see the destruction you've caused,
    that your cheerful whistle isn't splitting my hang-over
    while afternoon clock hands scrape at my bones.

    There are so many things left to do that I can't finish
    except the bottle I've conquered alone.




    Submitted on 2011-10-29 14:58:29     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      I like how you turned this on its ear. Pollyanna is still playing the "glad game".

    "I'm glad you're dead today.
    I'm glad you don't see the destruction you've caused,"

    What a dark twist on the game.

    And all that precedes that moment. . .

    Even the broken coffee beans feel pressed upon. The feeling of looking into a smashed reflection. The prisms splitting the light. The pounding in the speaker's head.

    And finally, the "win" against the bottle . . . wow.

    The "Glad Game" is not one I often win at either. It's like those board games with the little plastic pieces. I always want to call red, but somehow I'm either black or blue right from the start.

    This is a strong write.

    Jane
    | Posted on 2011-10-31 00:00:00 | by JanePlane | [ Reply to This ]
      You take me back with this piece, to a time when I just joined here and I was exposed to this deep level of inner-you-ness.. and it made me flare up and feel something on another level that is hard to define but I can only say it is deep and somehow this takes me back, you have tapped into a raw energy here. Something that leaves me shaking and also smiling, not because I enjoyed the piece only but because on some fundamental level it feels like my madness is understood...
    | Posted on 2011-10-29 00:00:00 | by Clayman | [ Reply to This ]
      oh geez...i think i might know where this came from...

    there is so much regret but also bitterness in these lines...look at me now since you left...life is an ugly routine...i hate me...and i hate you for leaving me...but also miss you and i miss the old me.

    i'm glad you can't see me now...and i hate even the idea that the thought of you might cheer me up...

    i don't want to be cheered up today...i just want to be left alone to drown my sorrows in my own bottle...

    if you were here i don't even know if i would offer you a sip..

    wow, among yours, jane's and shawn's pieces..

    i got some delicious food for thought...and really felt some stinging emotions.

    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-10-29 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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