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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: our glassdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Clayman
    ASL Info:    28 - getting late
    Elite Ratio:    6.34 - 609/327/167
    Words: 118
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 578
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 719



    Description:
       Edited


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

    dotsour glassdots
    -------------------------------------------


    I woke up this morning with a gun in my head,
    shooting your name through my temples, and I bled.

    Spinning on my lunatic fringe
    I match the hurried madness
    of days covered with random things
    I try to hide your faithful voice between.

    An inverted concept of progress,
    the only thing filling my chest
    to a raw capacity,
    lingers as a chiseled reminder of all I've lost.

    So I'll spill my mind to the sky each day to try conjure you with pleas and polished beggars-words to be
    shot down before a new days night,
    anything to try bring balance to a
    shackled heart I refuse to face alone.
    Svw




    Submitted on 2012-01-23 15:45:27     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      You've captured something I've had trouble saying.
    I can give you a generic version of how awe inspiring this piece is, but I'll do my best not to do so.

    "I woke up this morning with a gun in my head,
    shooting your name through my temples, and I bled."

    Through my own experience, I can honestly say the way you wrote this is...well....lovely. I think the worst part of waking up, is that small moment between the time of consciousness. When you're eyes are going to open but your brain is still on standby and you still believe their sleeping next to you.

    "An inverted concept of progress,
    the only thing filling my chest
    to a raw capacity,
    lingers as a chiseled reminder of all I've lost. "

    This one is my favorite. When I first left my other half, I remember one day that I was laying on the couch at my cousins. When I woke up it felt like I had the worst hangover of my life (even though the night before I didn't even drink) I was shaking and sick, it felt like my whole body was in a vise and it felt like if i moved a muscle that I would throw up what little I could even stomach. The visualization of this piece here seems to hold those who read it.

    All in all, this is a beautiful piece. I'm glad that the first poem I've read since I came back from a 2 year break is this. This is wonderful. I don't see anything that I would change (which is funny cause I'm like a poem Nazi sometimes)

    With warm regards,
    Nikki
    | Posted on 2012-01-25 00:00:00 | by nikita2u | [ Reply to This ]
      especially like the second stanza and the allusion to the suicide...

    and the next line...that metaphor works so well here, but is a bit lost in the second half of the poem...would like to see a stronger reference to it there, and the poem would feel more symmetrical...

    jacob
    | Posted on 2012-01-24 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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