#1
before sam died, and ryan questioned his sexuality
arielle and I touched at the arcade, flirting anxiously
we made out on ryan's bed when I polished off the bourbon
we fell in love and for two months the drugs kept me a virgin
then may second i took the pills to off myself
over the phone and through her tears
I told her that it was an accident.
For six months my tongue was dry.
she ****ed me like boogie nights
and held me like my mother shouldve.
then came the day she up and left;
i couldn't be a man, so i drank instead.
called her and called her a *****,
continued to cum to the thought of her face.
Been sober a year now, and that was four ago.
I've ****ed a handful and said i've loved even more,
but truth be told i've been alone ever since.
from cell, to room, to rehab to institution,
back to my lime green bedroom in the ghetto of a dead city.
I look at her pictures and masturbate.
Last edited by clichealias at Aug 14, 2008,
#2
i didn't like the improper recognition of May 2nd.
i like the way it took off, but about half way through i lost interest. of course, i finished the poem; i just feel like you could've conveyed the "patheticness"(for lack of a better term, no offense intended) in a better way.
i'm assuming you wanted to keep it in sort of a sloppy structure to fit the subject matter, but i don't believe the way you broke the lines did it any justice, either.

in short; i enjoyed the idea behind the piece, just thought the execution could've been smoother.

EDIT: if you find time, maybe you could take a glance over mine?
There's a road that leads to the end of all suffering. You should take it.


- Jericho Caine


secret, aaaaagent maaan.
secret, aaaaagent maaan.
Last edited by ottoavist at Aug 14, 2008,
#4
Quote by clichealias

then came the day she up and left;
i couldn't be a man, so i drank instead.
called her and called her a *****,
continued to cum to the thought of her face.
(This part killed the mood of the entire first third of the poem for me. Killed it dead. I understand the message you are trying to get across, but I think it could be written much differently.)

Been sober a year now, and that was four ago.
I've ****ed a handful and said i've loved even more,
but truth be told i've been alone ever since.
from cell, to room, to rehab to institution,
back to my lime green bedroom in the ghetto of a dead city.
(The last third of this poem was most excellent, however, the last line seems out of place. I don't have a problem with the graphic nature of it, just the way that the graphic nature of the line is depicted. Perhaps you could lead up to it more. Add another line before this one perhaps.)
I look at her pictures and masturbate.


Overall, a good piece that conveys strong emotions to me. I liked reading it, but the middle section could have conveyed your anger in a better way than it did. Nice work.

My stuff is in my sig, the top one is the most recent, if you feel like reading it.