[ Join Free! ]
(No Spam mail)

  • RolePlay
  • Join Us
  • Writings
  • Shoutbox
  • Community
  • Digg Mashup
  • Mp3 Search
  • Online Education
  • My Youtube
  • Ear Training
  • Funny Pics
  • nav

  • Role Play
  • Piano Music
  • Free Videos
  • Web 2.0
  • nav

    << | >>

    dots Submission Name: Deconstructing: Turning Pointdots

    Author: drowning_queen
    Elite Ratio:    5.44 - 245/270/52
    Words: 812
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 874
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 5152

       A sequel of sorts to Deconstructing Mrs. Bovary. I know it doesn't even come close to the intensity of its predecessor but it came from the same free-flowing organic place so I've decided to share it.

    It gets kinda operatic at points-- not sure if that's a bad thing. I'm trying to move the story forward but couldn't do it in the same apathetic tone or format as the first one.

    Let me know what you think of the "prosetry".


    (TBC, maybe...)

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

    dotsDeconstructing: Turning Pointdots

    Is there anything left to salvage
    when I'm up at three in the morning
    scrubbing my mouth out with soap,
    trying to erase the metallic taste of
    shame from the back of my throat?
    And even after my gums are bleeding
    I still can't scrape the layer of
    come off my tongue that has
    always been chokingly thick yet
    never enough to keep me from
    sucking him off at the end of
    every heated argument
    he starts and I can't finish.

    When did it come to the point where
    I need half a bottle of bourbon to
    block out the feeling of his
    hands on my shoulder blades
    when he pulls out of
    our holding pattern.

    Sometimes I'm glad we never had
    children. I know I'd blame them
    instead of him because I'm afraid of
    losing the only stability I've ever known.
    When I doubt this fact I just remember
    who he was fucking when I was
    in a hospital bed bleeding,
    not able to cry as the results of him
    coming inside me one time too often
    slid down my thighs like the tears
    I could not shed. He never knew
    I was tongue-fucking the maid when
    it happened. She shuddered then gasped
    at the stain on my white linen
    skirt as she clutched at her crucifix
    and ran towards the phone.
    She quit three days later on
    pretense of salary, but not even
    his bribery could make her stay.

    I'll never forget the
    smug look on his face
    when he told me
    this morning:

    “Baby, this just isn't working
    I'm sorry, but sadly I must be
    going. I can't pretend I love you
    the way I once cared for the
    woman you once were--
    with tits that would make a
    centerfold jealous,
    hands of a goddess--
    where did that sweet girl I
    once knew run away to?

    You're not the hot wife that I
    married. So, darling I must say
    goodbye-- you'll get over my
    dazzling smile and my charming
    blue eyes. So farewell Emmaline,
    this just isn't my scene anymore.
    I'm taking the Porsche and going to
    Gina's-- oh, didn't I tell you?
    I've met someone else.”

    The bastard just grinned and
    patted my knee. Was he ever
    mistaken if he thought he was
    getting off that easy...

    “Jack! You sorry excuse for a
    man. Did you think you could
    just walk away? Don't hold your
    breath, lover-- it's not over yet.

    The girl that you married never
    left-- you just sucked all the
    life from her weak naïve
    body. How dare you act like you're
    God's gift to women. Do you
    think you'd be anything without
    all those pills that you pop and insisting
    on fucking girls half your age?
    They don't know the difference
    between good sex and rape. So
    keep telling yourself that you're
    great-- maybe they'll believe it, too.
    God knows that I did-- when I was
    too stoned to notice how
    insecure older men are.

    I hate that I've wasted
    my life on this marriage of
    less than convenience,
    more bullshit than either of us
    ever expected. There's no
    more room for regrets inside these
    decorated walls. So get out you
    selfish, inglorious asshole. I
    hope that you rot. If you think
    that I'm lying, take two steps and
    see if your balls are still there.”

    Then he called me an
    ungrateful whore and
    remembered to slam the
    door on the way to his car.
    Who's sorry now?
    I've held my tongue for
    too many years, yet
    still I'm shocked that it's
    come down to this.
    Not even a kiss. So I
    sink to the carpet and
    kick off my hundred
    dollar shoes. I'm so tired of
    being used by the man
    that I love. And after all that
    he's done and all that
    we've said there's no way to
    deny it-- I still crave the
    bruises he leaves on my hips
    when he spins me around,
    pressing my knees into
    unbleached cotton.

    And even after the way
    that we left it I'll probably
    crawl back to him when
    he's done fucking the
    new one and misses the
    way that I tremble when he
    punches holes in the walls of
    our bedroom. My body betrays
    me until he holds all of the
    cards. But what will they
    tell him tomorrow when
    the rest of the scotch has
    been pissed out and he's
    left with nothing but
    car keys and sickly sweet
    kisses from some girl
    whose name he's already

    Submitted on 2006-03-15 16:41:57     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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

    ||| Comments |||
      My God... This is absolutely heartbreaking and empowering, and it shows the exacted amount of degradation and how she tolerated it for the sake of love or companionship, or both...
    This is positively glowing... Have you ever thought of writing about her for real? and shopping it around? Because, my dear, I do believe you've got something here...

    Favorites. Immediately.
    I may have already pressed the button.
    Write more.
    More, more, more!!!
    | Posted on 2006-11-02 00:00:00 | by Syn | [ Reply to This ]
      I want to begin with an apology for being unable to objectively deconstruct your deconstruction, finding it fairly well impossible to separate reminders of myself from the text as an independent body.

    There is a dry, almost matter-of-fact tone to this piece which, by virtue of removing overly emotional and melodramatic language, allows the emotions themselves to breathe more clearly.

    The bruises heal. Sometimes there are no visible bruises at all. The M.O. changes, but the resulting damage is almost always the same. What hurts the most here, at least to my reading, is this:

    "I hate that I've wasted
    my life on this marriage of
    less than convenience"

    This sounds like a marriage that one party believed in, and the other party wanted for appearance. Not an unusual situation -- it's more unusual that the used party realises it's fruitless and gets out, although fortunately less so now. Pieces of writing like this are an invaluable source of inspiration and strength.
    | Posted on 2006-04-26 00:00:00 | by Fantastic Freya | [ Reply to This ]
      I haven't read the first part yet but I'm in love with this one. It feels like this woman is every woman, young or old, virgin or whore. I can't wait to read more. I need to know what will happen. I hope there's some sort of justice at the end of it all.

    | Posted on 2006-03-15 00:00:00 | by ALittleBitCrazy | [ Reply to This ]
      hmmm........idk. really i do think it's just as intense as the first part but in a diffrent way. i think there's so much missing between this and the other write really. i like the format. btw. nothing spectacular by the standards i have for you. but it works well.

    i've noticed such a change in tone in your writings as of late. you seem happier. idk it just might be me but if so i'm happy for you.

    the apathetic tone is missing. if you want this to be a story i would try and let that slip away throughout the piec as a hole.

    your graphic sexual descriptions are done tastefully and with purpose as usual. so i commend you on that. the cum sliding down her thighs part ws very cutting.

    this seems alot more honest than the first part as well.

    sorry if most of the feedback has been negative so far, i just want to look at this as honestly as i can.

    and on a personal note i am so [censored] estatic to see you working more on this. if anything i would love to see this made into at least a short story. but that's me.

    the end is good. the hole piece is just amazing really. you have talent girl and i'm glad to see you putting alot of effort into your work. it really shows.

    | Posted on 2006-03-15 00:00:00 | by Skillessbasterd | [ Reply to This ]

    Think Feedback more than Compliments :: [ Guidelines ]

    1. Be honest.
    2. Try not to give only compliments.
    3. How did it make you feel?
    4. Why did it make you feel that way?
    5. Which parts?
    6. What distracted from the piece?
    7. What was unclear?
    8. What does it remind you of?
    9. How could it be improved?
    10. What would you have done differently?
    11. What was your interpretation of it?
    12. Does it feel original?


    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.




    User Name:


    [ Quick Signup ]
    [ Lost Password ]

    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems

    I have 14,000+ Subscribers on Youtube. See my Video Tutorials

    [ Angst Poetry ]
    [ Cutters ]
    [ Famous Poetry ]
    [ Poetry Scams ]

    [ Smaller ] [ Bigger ]