a knot in my stomach:
the room spinning
and unfamiliar language on my tongue;

the streets washed clean, by
as if, tears, and streams:
memory obfuscated in light drizzle

the contents spill out
and the cloak of mystery
lifts: disparate items
split, spilt from without

i could lay here for days
and still, craving.
a light, my soul,
my heart; these are the

each day brings;
I feel like the first stanza is a bit jarring compared to the rest of the piece, but from there out I really like the pacing. The last line is wonderful, provides a strong ending, but stays beautifully succinct.
I'm a little torn with this one. On one hand, there are some really lovely moments in here ("memory obfuscated in light drizzle", the "split, spilt" wordplay, etc.); and then there are other moments where I feel not enough is given for the reader to bite into. Words such as "contents" and "items" don't bring much to the table in terms of imagery or description, nor does "light", "soul" and "heart" from the second to last stanza.

But then again, you make it clear throughout that there is an element of confusion and uncertainty that the narrator is dealing with ("unfamiliar", "mystery", "as if"), so perhaps the non-descriptive language is a function of this theme. It seems like the narrator himself is unsure of what to make of his surroundings and his feelings, which is in a way reflexed back onto the reader.

In a sense, I think it works. But there's still a part of me that leaves this poem wanting more out of it. I want more clarity into this narrator's fight with uncertainty, which may too oxymoronic a desire.
here, My Dear, here it is
Quote by hippieboy444
the streets washed clean, by
as if, tears, and streams:

I really stumble on this part. I think the "as if" is the problem in here.

On most stuff, I agree with SubwayToVenus. I like how the last two stanzas sound, but they're too obscure to get a grasp of what you want to achieve with them.