#1
Meh.


Dark red wine, a face so fine,
staring up at her own death.
She takes her last breath
and with laughter in the wings,
the slaughterhouse begins business.

The mock savagery of the chirurgery
enlists the doctor’s delight at such a sight
as three loose stitches in a wound so perfect,
it would make the ugly beautiful again.

An incision as precise, suffice it to say,
is the perfect flesh mark, a preternatural birthmark.
Exposing the lungs as she speaks in tongues,
the gas in her blood causing delirium.

Dancers of the savage ballet
ask for advice from the medical attaché
as he whiles away the hours
before the universe devours
this broken rose on a pedestal of stone.

The white glove becomes red
from the bowels of the living dead,
eyes blank and expressionless
yearning for some belongingness.
The murderer remains at large,
society’s dishonourable discharge.

Her body’s on display
on the apex of the sun’s way.
Bones and nerves one does observe,
falling limply off the skin.

A woman so perfect inside-out,
a beauty beyond any doubt.
They say it’s what’s on the inside that counts.
A beauty of considerable account.
#2
Black dotted for tomorrow. Until then, i leave you to ponder my identity Mike. I'll give you a clue, i was around a couple of years ago. This will probably rebound on me as you might not remember, but oh well, here's to the thought.
#3
Quote by Dæmönika
Meh.


Dark red wine, a face so fine,
staring up at her own death.
She takes her last breath
and with laughter in the wings,
the slaughterhouse begins business.
The pace in this first stanza started off very well, which is why it was jarring when it fell into average in the middle of the stanza. The death/breath rhyme was alright, but the breath line could've lost a syllable and sounded much better. After that, the lack of rhyme was disappointing.
The mock savagery of the chirurgery
enlists the doctor’s delight at such a sight
as three loose stitches in a wound so perfect,
it would make the ugly beautiful again.
Alright, I see that you have a pattern here, and I appreciate the discipline required to keep up a rhyme scheme, especially an unorthodox one. I still don't like it though . I had to look up "chirurgery", but it was worth it... the connotations are perfect. The perfect wound image is also fascinating.
An incision as precise, suffice it to say,
is the perfect flesh mark, a preternatural birthmark.
Exposing the lungs as she speaks in tongues,
the gas in her blood causing delirium.

Dancers of the savage ballet
ask for advice from the medical attaché
as he whiles away the hours
before the universe devours
this broken rose on a pedestal of stone.
I like this scheme better. The tone throughout is cutting, more so because of its coldness. The rose image is ok, but it doesn't stand up to the quality of some of the previous images.
The white glove becomes red
from the bowels of the living dead,
eyes blank and expressionless
yearning for some belongingness.
The murderer remains at large,
society’s dishonourable discharge.
"belongingness"? Ugh. This stanza as a whole didn't compare well to the others. It just seemed immature, but it's hard to point out why sorry.
Her body’s on display
on the apex of the sun’s way.
Bones and nerves one does observe,
falling limply off the skin.
The quality of the images is back up to my expectations. Although, bones don't really fall off skin. It sounds good on the first read through but the bone thing doesn't stand up to close inspection.
A woman so perfect inside-out,
a beauty beyond any doubt.
They say it’s what’s on the inside that counts.
A beauty of considerable account.
Chilling. Second "count" sounded like you were stretching for a rhyme. "it's what's" sounds clumsy.


This was good. It was very cold, in every way. It felt like you couldn't decide what to do with the structure, though. If you wanted to revise it, this could feel much tighter by putting more thought into structure and what's necessary. I hope that at least some of this was helpful. If you feel like it, try participating in this.
#4
More than anything, i've always respected your talent of making the obscene, disturbing, murderous and cold strangely beautiful. You were the first author I really enjoyed on here, and I spent most of my first few months as a writer trying to mimic your style. Disturbing, I could do, but to present it in the way that you do, that's something else altogether. This piece is just one more in a long list of amazing works from you.
#5
it's pretty good, reminds me of The Receiving End of Sirens. This almost made me shiver in a good way
Here my voice goes to ones and zeros...