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starchild
April 30th, 2013, 01:12 PM
Title: Bipolarized
Author: Starchild/Gabrielle Bryant
Genre: General Non-Fiction
4/30/2013

(This is a rough draft)

How do you come back from that place you never were able to reach? You know, that place, where everything seemed ordered inside at least your head, no matter that the world would spin circles around your light. How do you follow the thread back to where you wove a blanket of love, not shame, for those who could welcome your warmth and comfort. Why does it keep happening to you? Why do they morph and tumble into endless downward spirals into the unknown, oblivious of the amount of suffering you've endured to raise your spirits high enough to endure this pain. I wonder.

I wonder if there was only one square to begin with. Why bother to tremble at danger like child who is watching this tide crashing down upon everyone she held inside her soul, like a magnet--drawing them in and expelling their darkness. Why is it the darkness draws them back to the place where no stars can form, no light can enter, no imagination can cure? Why do our friends continue to hold us hostage to their own dilemmas and misfortunes, while our strength they envy. The fortune they disgrace is the fortune we owe no one. I have a roof over my head. Should I house the scattered pages of storybooks written with hapless endings and half-assed attempted suicides.

This should be a sequel to my last episode, my last novella which described the affliction of madness. As a poet shields her light, from the savages she would run. Her colors bleeding sapphire and scarlet. Is anyone listening?

How can we rise after we have fallen from grace? Should I carry the fallen on the arms of my own fallen shoulders, where I slouch waiting for the vampires and ghosts to take me across the bridge of decay to the land of never-ending dust. Should I pull them up from the depths, when my very presence is intoxicating them with pain. Should I agree to be a friend to this petty curse? No. I shall not concede to the pain of which the deafened cattle have come to share. You can carry on, slave away hapless slave, to the drug you crave. The blood you will boil to sooth the ache in your souls. The sacrifice who wanted to live.

Jesus Christ. Just wake up and face the dawn. You morons, all I need is a friend. And if you can't see me, don't change me, don't bother to pick up the pieces of glass from broken bottles on the ground I am walking, earth. Come down. Down. To the place where the ignorant and innocent collide. To God's plan, to separate man. We shall celebrate this allowance, oh God. You let this terror and ruination come. If I were a Goddess, I would bleed just like God's only son. Lord have no mercy. We are merely the vessels of toil for your end means.

When we are merely animals again. No fruits shall bear knowledge, for we shall be blinded by our own mindless fatigue. And if I wasn't forgiven, do you think I'd still be here living? If I am to blame for these wars across the ocean....if I were to blamed for having too much emotion, then please---let him oil my soul with led. I'd rather be dead than a vegetable to feed the beasts you have let into this wonderful universe.

If I could be sane I would be. But you see, everyone thinks I'm just crazy. An anachronism. A broken voice and a schism between the raindrops. Have you ever seen a fallen drop of water, upon the veil across your whorish children--flit up into heaven? Have you ever whispered to the voices you can't hear, into the angel's sphere of wordless beauty. Is there anything too pure for the wicked to rip apart and devour? What happened to the power of love?

I worship the sun, rain, moon, and stars. Not your battle scars.

Bakslashjack
April 30th, 2013, 07:27 PM
I'm confused. Is this the beginning to a story or is it poetry? Ether way this is very odd. It's extremely poetic but even so, it has some rather large issues I think need to be addressed.
You know, that place, where everything seemed ordered inside at least your head.
This can't be right, even for poetry. how about this.
You know, that place, where everything seemed in order, at least inside your head.
endured to raise your spirits high enough to endure this pain.
endured,endure, in the same sentence.
Should I carry the fallen on the arms of my own fallen shoulders,
again. fallen,fallen. If your trying to make a pattern by using the same word twice in the same sentence, the only way to make it relevant is to add ambiguity between the first and the second use. If that isn't your focus, remember there is no shame in using a thesaurus.
I like the schizophrenic feel at the beginning, but I have to admit I lose interest quickly, as it sounds like rambling.
Much luck with this endeavor.

lowprofile300
May 1st, 2013, 03:03 AM
Title: Bipolarized
Author: Starchild/Gabrielle Bryant
Genre: General Non-Fiction
4/30/2013

(This is a rough draft)

If I could be sane I would be. But you see, everyone thinks I'm just crazy. An anachronism. A broken voice and a schism between the raindrops. Have you ever seen a fallen drop of water, upon the veil across your whorish children--flit up into heaven? Have you ever whispered to the voices you can't hear, into the angel's sphere of wordless beauty. Is there anything too pure for the wicked to rip apart and devour? What happened to the power of love?
I worship the sun, rain, moon, and stars. Not your battle scars.


@Starchild, This is a poem, right? It sounds like it to me.

carastone
May 3rd, 2013, 03:49 AM
Wow. There is such bitterness, but at the same time apathy. Through it all, hope and love shine through. One moment, I'm feeling comfortable with the imagery and vocabulary, then I'm shocked by phrases like "half-assed attempted suicides" and "you morons." The ending is so powerful and defiant. I am intrigued by the melange of styles and themes in this piece.

Thanks for posting this.

--Cara Stone
sites.google.com/site/carastonenovels/

Kirra
May 11th, 2013, 06:24 AM
Starchild, this is beautiful.

I may be way off base, but you listed the genre as non-fiction, and the title as Bipolarized. This is your story, isn't it? Or a piece of your story. I have similar pieces of my own.

Edited for typo

starchild
May 19th, 2013, 05:09 AM
It's not a poem. It only rhymes at the end. I labeled it general fiction because there is no place for it otherwise. This narrative is my way of expressing emotions that society has forgotten and sometimes shuns.

starchild
May 19th, 2013, 05:13 AM
Thanks for the critique. It's interesting people are interested in a "schizophrenic" feel from someone who would otherwise by society be labeled one---but cast off rules and discard perfection's Neo Nazi dream and you might realize that there is no such thing as a split mind there are only broken people.