#1
Crit for crit, I suppose.

Trees Guard It.

I don't have the time or the patience
To extinguish junkyard fires and
Hotwire beautiful brand new cars.
The good-enough life is killing me.
It's shredding off my arms and feeding
Them to the man-eating anteaters.
The crowd goes wild when the buzzer buzzes,
And the talk show host presses the trap door button.

It's like me fucking up your windows with a baseball bat.
Even though they're gone, you can repair or replace them.
Well, blue monday, you've got a point.
But a friendship ended is a friendship ended,
And a snake spitting venom is gonna get what comes to him.

The paramedics always snap their necks half-way in.
My cold, dead fingers have become a nest for locusts.
The analog synths weap for me today.
There is nothing left for me here.
Wade in the water, child.
#2
I don't have the time or the patience
To extinguish junkyard fires and
Hotwire beautiful brand new cars.
The good-enough life is killing me.
It's shredding off my arms and feeding
Them to the man-eating anteaters.
The crowd goes wild when the buzzer buzzes,
And the talk show host presses the trap door button.
The first four lines here are my favorite in the entire piece. This whole stanza flows better than any of the others, but it gets awkwardly forced towards the end. The "shredding my arms and feeding to anteaters" line seemed off and rather forced to turn heads. The last lines are fine, but lacks the same sense of imagery as the others.

It's like me fucking up your windows with a baseball bat.
Even though they're gone, you can repair or replace them.
Well, blue monday, you've got a point.
But a friendship ended is a friendship ended,
And a snake spitting venom is gonna get what comes to him.
First line is weird. It works here, oddly, but at the same time it doesn't sit well with me. The last lines triumph in their simplicity, especiallt the last.

The paramedics always snap their necks half-way in.
My cold, dead fingers have become a nest for locusts.
The analog synths weap for me today.
There is nothing left for me here.
Dig the paramedic line. I always love the imagery of hospitals when they're not cliched. The analog synth line again doesn't work for me for some reason I can't explain. And again, an effectively simple last line, which is always good. Sometimes going out simply says more than ending with a bang.

I liked this. You've got skills broseph. I'm always on the lookout for writers who delve into the violent, perverse and surreal (like me) and you've always done that well. Props, I say.
Poor advice.