Incinerated  

and the armory is now fully stocked. Thank you Betty

That was cryptic. Are you calling my crap bombs, LB, is that what you're saying Huh?  Kidding. Thanks for the read/review, LB. Always appreciated.
Happy writing, or armory stocking, B

Awesome is a much over-used word on poetry sites but it's appropriate here. Some of the imagery is just soooo strong,

'The toe of your boot
sifts through,
to see what's left,
and there's a sickening
silence in the air, '

was particularly masterful/evocative. To say I liked it would be such an understatement. Let's just say I liked it.   Red

Did you like it?

Thanks, Red, I'm glad you liked it. Really. Betty

hey ugly

that was the fatman you chose to drop last.
packed to the core, it bursts with soul, pain
and life. and love. i will come back and take
a good shot at it. it deserves one hell of a
good shot.

till then, be awesome nerd-poet

sumeet

Thanks! So glad to see you back and doing wel, Sumeet. Thanks for stopping in. Be well, and happy writing, you damn weirdo.
Betty

okay. i am here, again.

"I'm curled in a pile of
ashes at your feet,
charcoal eyes rolled back
in a tolling
hallelujah,
lashless lids,
crackling into
faithless particles of
nothing.

[somehow 'curl' does not seem like
the best thing you can do here. not
very convincing. it is used later and
there it fits. not here. may be it's
the lack of connection with ashes.

and, then whoa! i love 'lashless'. very
effective. the last three lines are gold.
best use of 'particles' in a while that
i have seen. beautiful.]

The toe of your boot
sifts through,
to see what's left,
and there's a sickening
silence in the air,
heavy enough to
make us both flinch.

[straight in the gut. acid.
first three lines are brutal in the context.
'sickening, heavy silence.' damn girl. its getting better.]


From the dust-caked ether,
I'm soundlessly screaming,
desperately clinging.
reaching and yearning,
and you can't hear, or
see
or feel
my active inaction,
because  my vocal chords burned
in that last fire, darling,
my arms were incinerated.

[i love 'ether'. love it. get to use it rarely as i have a lot of respect for it. you have done exceedingly well here.

for a moment i felt uneasy. but then read three lines before and after and bang! does it work!

the 'ing' grouping is thin ice. but again, works well.

drama.]


and I'm no longer able to
reach out.
I just can't.
(justcan’tcan’tcan’tcan’t)
because the heat was too much
and I don't know how  
to form sick flesh,
from the nothing
in  which I'm cocooned.

['bracketed additions' have always worked for you.
here i feel it does not. just me. [justcan't]

powerful image there. espceially, 'form sick flesh'.]


If I could, though,
could rise anew,
I'd hitch forward,
and rub my disease on your skin
inch by inch
as you stretched my willing body
on the altar;

['rub my disease' is classic. i love it.
the addition of altar was near-shocking. well done.]

I'd eat your filth,
I'd arch up to meet the knife,
and beg for more
as you cut through the latex exterior
and fucked that
soft pretty shit inside me
three ways to Sunday

[my favourite part of the whole poem.
could not pick out the favourite part.
just, awesome, betty-esque stuff.]

If I had lungs, I'd breathe you
nothing but,
your name like a prayer,
like a worship,
like the stars in my sky  
and all the other cheap cliches,

[somehow i feel 'like a prayer' should be in
a separate line. cheap cliches. ha!]

and I'd say your name like I meant it,
like I was fucking it,
like it was a secret language that made  
my internal bellows function
and my knees weak
and my mouth dry
and lips wet.

[i have seen variations of this. you love this
idea. and i love that. 'bellow' made me grin.
i also feel there are too many 'and my's.
they can be grouped different. no? just me.]

If I had words anymore, love,
I'd tell you that I want you more
right now
(right now)
than I have before,
more

than I can bear

That I've never known
what desire really tastes like,
and to find it like this
with you
stretches my charred skin
so thin that you can see the
muscle striations beneath
the surface as I struggle to
not
get away.

[insert cue card: nerd. muscle striations
reminded me of alex grey.

'not get away' is again, betty-esque.]


I'd say that I want to run,
so fucking far
so fucking far,
that when I stop,  
I look up to an alien sun
and cry in distraught relief,
tears burning acid tracks down
my soul
because I might,
in that strange space
not obsess about the way
I think to reach for you
a thousand times a day;
and then curl in a ball
wailing, shattered, grieved
to think that might
be possible,
to live without
you tormenting
my every thought

[no. this is my new favourite new.
hauntingly beautiful. 'curl's works here.]

my.
every.
fucking.
thought.

[yes!]

But my saving grace is my feet were
annihilated, too,

[not too sure about 'annihilated'. just me.]

so I'm unable to take the
first step

away."


[deja vu. negation. noone does it like you. :]

phew! that was a heavy session. and i am not easily gutted.
there, i lied. anyhoo, this is the typical affair i was hoping for.
love your love poems. they always pack a punch in the gut.

keep them coming ugly.

much love,

sumeet


p.s-yup! good to be back. :]

I missed your guts man, thank you for the phenomenal review, weirdo. (Nerd? Guilty as charged.)

Thanks for coming back, man, this was gorgeous.

Everything you write just speaks to me.In a way that if I had your craft and skill I'd pen something similar.We can't all be awesome,right?Nice one,Betty!

Viwe, thank you for the high praise. You have a fantastic skill set that defines you. Like hell we can't all be awesome. Who wants to be awesome alone? That's silliness. Thanks again for the review. B