Thread: Uncut, unedited

I hate.
Whom
I have
Become.
Because
I Love
You.

I sip bourbon alone on this perfect summer night.
The kind of night that haunts me in my dreams.
Hope for,
Yearn for…
Something.
That which.
I can no longer remember,
but…
Still feel.
Deep within me
Within the chasm of my life.

The air is
Perfect.
Saturated.
Suffocating.
breathe.
breathe.
Breathe it.
BREATHE IT!
Drown in the lies created by your mind.
Perfect lies, perfect night…

I am the black.
I am the white.
the wisps of gray lost in the in-between.
A fleeting thought,
neither here nor there.
The lazy tendrils of smoke
That tumble from my cigar,
From my lips,
Lost and forgotten in a
moment
from
my breath.
MY BREATH…

You unbalance
the balance
of
My life.
Ripples in the glassy still
An aftershock of your undeniable beauty.

I hear the cicadas,
The thunder of their staccato melody
As it fractures the silence of the night.

I hate.
I love.
I loved.
You.

Betrayed
I feel
It.
You.

I wipe the spit from my face
As I try to collect the fragments of my life,
From the gutter in the road.
Fragments that hold.
That held...
All I am, all whom I hoped to be.
And I am left here.
Alone
To rebuild
My world.
A world I no longer remember how to build.

A single
Tear.
Rolls down.
my cheek.
MY cheek.
Hits.
My lip.
My breathe.
MY BREATHE.
I hate.
I love.
You.

Amasing words..great style.
I hope you're Ok..

This is a dark--twisted--hellish poem, lots of drama and angst.. maybe a little over done---NOT! Very well done. " I hate who I have become because I love you"---Oh I know exactly what you are saying. Been there--done that--NOT going to do that again. Your talent is in not being afraid to show your naked emotions---the good--the bad and the ugly...I applaud you for that. Peace...Jul

Hi NicB,

I sometimes wish there was a genre called "therapy", or "Been there done that." You are raw, dark, and in pain. I mean your work is.

I am the black.
I am the white.
the wisps of gray lost in the in-between.
A fleeting thought,
neither here nor there.
The lazy tendrils of smoke
That tumble from my cigar,
From my lips,
Lost and forgotten in a
moment
from
my breath.
MY BREATH… (I love this)
It has a dreamy feeling to it. I also bring to mind the surreal experience that can take place when reality is clouded by over consumption.
I also enjoy the way you change font style to convey a new feeling, a new memory, or new experience. It makes it easier for me to switch gears and prepare for your message.
This is great. Thanks.

What a great way to say I love you and you don't care. I agree with FireMajic that you are not over the top. I would add that you are close though. If I had to nit pick, and I do have to, it's in my nature, I would say "the chasm of my life" is an awkward image Maybe "the chasm which has become my life"? Still, very good, keep bringing them to us.

I especially liked 'the wisps of gray lost in the in-between'. This worked really well for me.

I really like this man. Can relate too which I personally find a bonus with writing. Nice

thanks all, glad you enjoyed it!

Amazing. There are no other words for it.

wow. I feel like you are speaking just to me.

Angst. Beautiful. Love the way you wrote it, the poem has a raw appeal to it.

^^Thanks! Glad you liked it. If only I could write things like that without having to live it first. Ah well.

I am a bitter person, and I don't like seeing an abundance of positive replies divorced from critique and suggestions for improvement; I therefore feel the need to temper this conversation with complaint. Please do not take it personally.

I do very much like the bits of imagery that are here -- the cicadas, the summer night, the cigar smoke, and the spit on your face. They are vivid and work well for me. I think they complement the emotion you are going for very well.

Unfortunately, none of the rest of it works for me. The basic words presented in such a plain staccato hit me as nothing more than words -- the general lack of imagery and figurative language prevents any of the words from striking a deeper resonance within me or calling forth an emotional response of any sort. Reading the words "I hate you" or "I love you" is very different than feeling the words. I can tell that the author/narrator feels them in this poem -- but that hasn't come across for me. In general, I just got annoyed at all the period and line breaks.

Also "breathe" in the last stanza should probably be "breath."

Including more specifics, developing some motif, analogy, or sensory imagery would really help bring the emotion you're going for into relief on the paper (er.. screen). Possibly consider some cutting. And some editing. You do have plenty of potential to work with in this poem, though.

(Off-topic, but I'm intrigued that you've been here since 2004 but it says your only three posts are in this thread.)

Originally Posted by j.w.olson

I am a bitter person, and I don't like seeing an abundance of positive replies divorced from critique and suggestions for improvement; I therefore feel the need to temper this conversation with complaint. Please do not take it personally.

I do very much like the bits of imagery that are here -- the cicadas, the summer night, the cigar smoke, and the spit on your face. They are vivid and work well for me. I think they complement the emotion you are going for very well.

Unfortunately, none of the rest of it works for me. The basic words presented in such a plain staccato hit me as nothing more than words -- the general lack of imagery and figurative language prevents any of the words from striking a deeper resonance within me or calling forth an emotional response of any sort. Reading the words "I hate you" or "I love you" is very different than feeling the words. I can tell that the author/narrator feels them in this poem -- but that hasn't come across for me. In general, I just got annoyed at all the period and line breaks.

Also "breathe" in the last stanza should probably be "breath."

Including more specifics, developing some motif, analogy, or sensory imagery would really help bring the emotion you're going for into relief on the paper (er.. screen). Possibly consider some cutting. And some editing. You do have plenty of potential to work with in this poem, though.

(Off-topic, but I'm intrigued that you've been here since 2004 but it says your only three posts are in this thread.)

Well, the title is "Uncut, Unedited", so you are correct, but I already pointed out as much. My staccato (stream of conscious) style is very much intentional and replicates the mind's state during such times of duress: fractured, disjointed, frenetic, unclear, reflective, semi-intoxicated, irrational, etc. I think it works quite well for this piece and has enough "imagery" to make it tangible. I often find other writers will focus on the imagery, the structure, the grammar, and ultimately lose the meaning of the prose. But, your points are taken, and I do appreciate the critique!

Regarding my other works, I used to post more frequently. At some point between then and now, WritingForums.com must have undergone some software/hardware change. All my old posts are gone, I have no idea what happened to them. My overarching style is typically not so disjointed (though it can be).

Thank you for reading.
NicB.

Ah, I gotcha. And with the "uncut, unedited" thing, I had assumed that was your title and not a disclaimer. Fair point on the staccato nature -- it doesn't work for me unless I put in significant effort to already feel that way before I read it, but others may be different. Thanks for the reply.