deepundergroundpoetry.com
eat your fucking heart out.
i.
so i guess this is the part where i'm supposed to cry; pretend it hurts, just a little, so that you can still get off on your stupid fucking mind-games. or maybe i'm supposed to laugh, because i know you know this poem is about you.
it was always about you.
ii.
i dredge from my veins this bond that masqueraded as blood. it may have been thicker than water, but it wasn't strong enough to make me fall to you; cut my legs to ribbons, and you will never see me on my knees.
i'd sooner die.
iii.
the letter i wrote you is now ashes, as is any kinship we shared, but no phoenix will rise from these decrepit remains. words are worthless when spoken out of tune, as empty as your heart and the air on sunday mornings.
they are cold as a grave, and you are dead to me.
iv.
but those words; the pretty poison on which you choke daily. i hope they smother you in your sleep, grey dreams so vague that you need never again look your biggest mistake in the face.
they disgust me,
but please-
swallow them
just one more time
for me.
-
this was written back in november of 2009 and was originally posted to another site; apparently, writing about a friend who stabbed me in the back (even though i didn't call her out by name)is a violation of that site's policy, so it was removed and i've reposted it here.
constructive crits are welcome and encouraged, but don't be an asshole.
so i guess this is the part where i'm supposed to cry; pretend it hurts, just a little, so that you can still get off on your stupid fucking mind-games. or maybe i'm supposed to laugh, because i know you know this poem is about you.
it was always about you.
ii.
i dredge from my veins this bond that masqueraded as blood. it may have been thicker than water, but it wasn't strong enough to make me fall to you; cut my legs to ribbons, and you will never see me on my knees.
i'd sooner die.
iii.
the letter i wrote you is now ashes, as is any kinship we shared, but no phoenix will rise from these decrepit remains. words are worthless when spoken out of tune, as empty as your heart and the air on sunday mornings.
they are cold as a grave, and you are dead to me.
iv.
but those words; the pretty poison on which you choke daily. i hope they smother you in your sleep, grey dreams so vague that you need never again look your biggest mistake in the face.
they disgust me,
but please-
swallow them
just one more time
for me.
-
this was written back in november of 2009 and was originally posted to another site; apparently, writing about a friend who stabbed me in the back (even though i didn't call her out by name)is a violation of that site's policy, so it was removed and i've reposted it here.
constructive crits are welcome and encouraged, but don't be an asshole.
Published 20th Sep 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 1
comments 1
reads 892
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
20th Sep 2011 1:40am
Personally I would get rid of the liner note, as it's self-explanatory enough, and if you don't specify what it's about, it works for many more situations and therefore resonates more deeply with more readers. But it's up to you. As for the poem itself: I like it a lot, and I like the structure as well. I think it does a good job of being detailed enough to be interesting and meaningful to the reader, but not so detailed as to be cluttered or overdefined. The only suggestion would be perhaps to put "they are cold as a grave." up in the long section above it, to keep with the structure of ending each with a short staccato line. But that's just a judgement call. Good poem.
