#1
Why I Can't Drink Lemonade.

I've got stitches from my head down
to the heart of the matter;
We're bad people.
Between smelling salts and
rubbing cuts, I'll touch a cold wall
and pretend it's her back.
Native tongues, I listen to
underwater alien music and
I click and she clacks while
we stick and we stumble
our feet for our hands.

To our heads we're a plastic
cup, I guess we're waiting to be filled,
picking our scabs and
getting ready to lick the fuck
out of our filthy luck.
I've got a throat full of thoughts
and I'm choking on the cost
of never saying a damn thing.
I'll wring out my neck in hope
of something coming out, but
every sting that ever stung, everything
wet or wrung will claw and dig
it's way into my tongue. And
All I'll say are sweet things
to stop the bitter taste.
I'm always thinking though
about all those
rotten suitors,
all these rotten boys.
Yet
she'll never know
how badly
it hurts to talk.
www.facebook.com/longlostcomic
Last edited by Something_Vague at Jul 3, 2008,
#2
shiit, man...
that's really good.

I freakin love it!
Lots of imagery and the title is enjoyably peculiar,
Your lyric style is very nteresting indeed.

"You'd stick your head in fire if I told you that you could see Hell"- Otis, House of 1000 Corpses
#3
The title's nice. The font color, though, is a gimmick. A well-used one, yes, but it still boils down to being a gimmick.

I really liked the first strophe. It's off beat and lyrical and simple and really really effective. Yes, I'm definitely a fan of the first strophe.

The second, though, doesn't match it IMO. It relies much too heavily on sonics, and while they add a nice touch, they're not much for a piece to lean on.

I'm not sure what else to say really, besides "nice job, work on the second part. "

All the best,
Ed.
I owe a ton of people critiques.

If you're one of them, please PM me.

I have trouble keeping track.
#4
What's wrong with gimmicks? Makes things more fun.

Thanks though, I don't really know what I can change about the second stanza without removing the entire point of the piece.
www.facebook.com/longlostcomic
#5
Reminds me of that piece that was full of wordplay you posted quite recently too, though this I felt held a bit more meaning and emotion.

I'd maybe drop the last sentences into it's own stanza, possibly. Just for added emphasis. It kind of looks a bit ugly imo having that one-word line near the end of the block of text.

I'm always thinking though
about all those
rotten suitors,
all these rotten boys.

Felt the top line there cold do with a bit more punctuation. Didn't really like those/these, probably the only word choice I'd care to pick at in this.

Good read, again. I've enjoyed what you've posted the last few weeks more than I ever have, probably.
#6
I always enjoy reading your pieces and next to never enjoy trying to critique them, so, well done.
#7
I'm a fan
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Sir, Awesome stuff. You have my respect!
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aw i love your song! sell it n' it would deffo be a smash!
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this is great. you've got the words!
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... Wauw... It really paints a picture and leaves the rest up to the imagination!
#8
Quote by Something_Vague
What's wrong with gimmicks? Makes things more fun.
yeah, pretty much that.
too much can get in the way. but this is nowhere near too much.
looks much better against black, though.


Why I Can't Drink Lemonade.

I've got stitches from my head down
to the heart of the matter;
nice hook.
We're bad people.
Between smelling salts and
rubbing cuts, I'll touch a cold wall
i liked the "verb" disparity of smelling salts and rubbing cuts.
and pretend it's her back.
Native tongues, I listen to
underwater alien music and
i hated the use of and here.
it messes with the flow, horribly.
it's makes a worse connection than a simple comma would.
you used and purposefully in the next line.
this one sucks.

I click and she clacks while
we stick and we stumble
our feet for our hands.

To our heads we're a plastic
cup, I guess we're waiting to be filled,
this line looks quite odd.
not sure why you waited til after the line break
to deliver cup, and then let this line go so long.
it looks like a ladle. a cup on the end of a stick.

picking our scabs and
getting ready to lick the fuck
out of our filthy luck.
I've got a throat full of thoughts
and I'm choking on the cost
of never saying a damn thing.
I'll wring out my neck in hope
of something coming out, but
every sting that ever stung, everything
wet or wrung will claw and dig
it's way into my tongue. And
another ineffective and.
All I'll say are sweet things
to stop the bitter taste.
i would have thought sour, here
bitter works well enough, i suppose.

I'm always thinking though
you probably don't even need though
if you keep it, maybe through up a comma just before.

about all those
rotten suitors,
all these rotten boys.
Yet
she'll never know
how badly
it hurts to talk.


this was more open and accessible than many of your pieces i've read.
i felt more comfortable, reading it.
Meadows
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