I walk a desolate street during a particularly
cold and dreary December. Avoiding black ice
puddles, I slalom the pavement, knocking back
a mouthful of scotch from a rusted hip flask.
I glare at the children silently singing carols
about good tidings. Well, stand on the fucking beach
and do it and get the fuck out my way.

The love of my life from a time I daren’t think about
disappeared in to the heart of the sun during a fine
Summer afternoon. He went with her. I cried
and I died inside as the tide ebbed at the seaside.
I need to purchase a new love.

So here I amble, casting a wicked glance through
semi-curtained windows lined with frost,
a roast on the table, baubles on the trees. A small
girl no more than ten stares in to my eyes and smiles.
Her mother comes to the window, looks at me,
closes the curtains. My good fellow, he will surely
say to me, I do believe we have found our specimen.
Last edited by Dæmönika at Aug 7, 2008,
I wasn't keen on your general writing technique here; it's overly simplistic and overly used. But your last stanza was quite excellent. It really felt honest and humbling, in a very twisted way.
This works. You have used the first two verse's as a build up and to explain your overall feeling of desperation, but you only hint to that, while you bombard us with your overreacting anger and disgust. Its OK though, it works.
The paragraphs don't flow into each other very effectively, but that adds to the frustration you are sensing I guess.
The way you have laid out the Christmas theme could of been more gracious or even gratuitous, but its only decent. Its not until the concluding four lines that I really find a sense of belonging and a lack of censorship, which I love to read.

Digitally Clean