#1
one day i will expire


written words are for the forgetful,
the wicked mind that cannot contain
every fragment of life that has passed
every instantaneous flicker of
energy moving through time like a picture book
flipping through and through and through
and never stopping
layering like page upon page
petal upon petal
stitch upon stitch
shitpile upon shitpile


blessed are the forgetful
for they do not exist


there is a threshold of energy that i ride the line of
not enough to be activated and shoot into the air
like a loaded cannon
like the spit from a sputtering mouth of anger
like blood spattered on a wall
but i feel the heat on my skin
and i can only perspire
so much
before
the
singe


but the burn feels rather good, yeah?
it's not so bad to be cooked
flesh slowly turning from a breathing being with
blood flowing through and dreams to followed
to a lifeless tender collection of meat
juices running
for all to share


should there really be a preference?
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




e-married to
theguitarist
minterman22
tateandlyle
& alaskan_ninja

#2
The only things I would suggest a change to are....

but the burn feels rather good, yeah?
it's not so bad to be cooked
flesh slowly turning from a breathing being with
blood flowing through and dreams to followed
to a lifeless tender collection of meat
juices running
for all to share

I would change this part slightly so it read...

but the burn feels rather good, no?
it's not so bad to be cooked
flesh slowly turning from a breathing being with
blood flowing through and dreams to be followed
to a lifeless tender collection of meat
juices running
for all to share

And this part...

layering like page upon page
petal upon petal
stitch upon stitch
shitpile upon shitpile

I don't know but it just seems to go over too many things in this. I would suggest cutting one out but it could change the feeling of the poem slighlty if you cut the wrong one.


The feelings from it definitely come through. I quite enjoyed this piece but I have to say I prefer some of your other pieces.
It didn't take long to realise
The safest place was not her arms, but her eyes
Where she can't see you
For her gaze, it blisters;
Grey skin to cinders