solenoid's profile
AGE:
26
LOC: Saint Helena, CA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: August 10
LOC: Saint Helena, CA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: August 10
I search to live, as if I am to die
Items
Version 1
2 Reviews
2 Comments
It hangs on the back. Back of my bathroom door. Made of paper & ink. Coloured shades of bloody pink. I am like THE HEART. I'm sure it grosses some guests out... It shows muscles and tissue, the route of blood circumflex But never. It has never beat. Not once electric alive. My heart just hangs on the back of the door. I stare at it when I'm on the toilet.
Version 1
3 Reviews
0 Comments
We ate with famished fingertips flesh boiling tender hard skin. Felt, as hungry mouths feed. Touched, like starving souls pray. I trembled at your privation You throbbed at mine. How we savaged each other delicate!
Version 1
2 Reviews
2 Comments
You invoke memories dust covered dead You supplicate desire silken web strong Make my heart cannon ball crushing I cannot breathe near you the heavy weight of spiders crypto decay make zip tie tightening your presence.
Version 1
3 Reviews
3 Comments
If my eyes could bleed their colour blue right into you You know I'd love you. But I fear my colour stays right within my eyes Yet in lack of sleep I fail disguise give my colour All away ...
Version 1
2 Reviews
13 Comments
This substance clear made to taste like oak & amber on the tongue gives it's golden hues I yield to it's sway let convey let portray my misery my joy like oak & amber in a song of love gone away.
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Reviews
Infrequently do I find a poem that represents a haunting of my past; a ghost hidden in my mind, which snatches my emotions so precisely to former feelings. “Communion” is that rarity. In this poem it is possible to identify with both the speaker and the lover (at least within the first few lines) - then strictly with the speaker in the second half. Interesting. There are some things though I think that would make this poem better: 1. Consider the position of the first line. If moved to be the...
The first thing that struck me odd, was the choice to use all CAPS. Perhaps unintended, but it soaks the entire poem with an under lying anger that is interlaced with all the sadness and loss of the poem. It makes it a little difficult to read, but quite an interesting (and effective) technique...somewhat like trying to read/write when one has been crying. As far the content goes, I find myself wanting to know more about this abyss, this world that has killed the dream in which one was living...
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