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The Injection (in parts) (1 Viewer)

LivingPoetintheFlesh

Senior Member
1. The Poison

Put me in an endless spiral of worry.
Take my body and twirl around with love.
The pain is real, right in my shattered bones.
I take this injection well, the poison drips
on the needle, am meant to die.
The reality is: self harm is a like an addiction
from the devil tempting you to sin.
The blood will spill out of me like a faucet.
Put me in an endless spiral of fear.
And what will be given to me.

2. The Sensation

The feeling is mutual, the poison stretches my insides.
Its tug on me is immeasurable, death creeps
See heaven? And when I recalled life
As a child, there was death all around me, my parents
died by poison and so will I.
There was nothing but blood and fallen bodies airborne.
There was nothing but the despair of the hands.
Hope this poison delivers me to hell.

3. The Concern

I worry that I haven’t died yet, what a pain.
The blood dribbles out my throat like water.
It makes me sick; the poison floods my brain.
I may not die in time.
For the sacrifice, my friends wait for that.
I think there is hope that they might wait
For me to squeal like a rat in agony.
I recline on this chair after the needle pokes my arm.

4. Succumb

Listen, there I lay dead in a black background.
I wake up, and I find myself waiting for God.
He isn’t there, there is nothing but a sphere of black.
As I walk around, there are voices.
Ones where they bounce like tennis balls in my ear.
Much like death, I finally have made it to hell.
The poison was stronger than I thought.
 
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ritudimrinautiyal

Senior Member
1. The Poison

Put me in an endless spiral of worry.
Take my body and twirl around with love.
The pain is real, right in my shattered bones.
I take this injection well, the poison drips
on the needle, am meant to die.
The reality is: self harm is a like an addiction
from the devil tempting you to sin.
The blood will spill out of me like a faucet.
Put me in an endless spiral of fear.
And what will be given to me.

2. The Sensation

The feeling is mutual, the poison stretches my insides.
Its tug on me is immeasurable, death creeps
See heaven? And when I recalled life
As a child, there was death all around me, my parents
died by poison and so will I.
There was nothing but blood and fallen bodies airborne.
There was nothing but the despair of the hands.
Hope this poison delivers me to hell.

3. The Concern

I worry that I haven’t died yet, what a pain.
The blood dribbles out my throat like water.
It makes me sick; the poison floods my brain.
I may not die in time.
For the sacrifice, my friends wait for that.
I think there is hope that they might wait
For me to squeal like a rat in agony.
I recline on this chair after the needle pokes my arm.

4. Succumb

Listen, there I lay dead in a black background.
I wake up, and I find myself waiting for God.
He isn’t there, there is nothing but a sphere of black.
As I walk around, there are voices.
Ones where they bounce like tennis balls in my ear.
Much like death, I finally have made it to hell.
The poison was stronger than I thought.
My God!! The feel of poison inside, the way it is interacting with organs inside with all expressions of power. I mean each organ telling what it is going through when the poison has invaded them. It feels all real.

Great poem LivingPoetintheFlesh
Good luck

Ritu
 

RHPeat

Met3 Group Leader
Staff member
Senior Mentor
You might consider cutting words that carry excess baggage and alternate feelings into the poem. Then tend to clutter the specifics that you are aiming at. They cause the poem to drift a bit because of their baggage of tangents.

a poet friend
RH Peat
 

RHPeat

Met3 Group Leader
Staff member
Senior Mentor
Can you show me where? I'd like an example. I'll do the rest.
Living poet
Start with the huge abstract images like (devil, hell & god) try to show the same thing without bringing all the extra baggage that they carry into the poem. Everyone's demon is different, everyone's hell is different, everyone's god is different. So these images aren't pulling readers into the core of your poem as somebody in dire-straights. You are splintering and fracturing your intent with abstracts. Use concrete images instead to suffuse the same-thing. Let the lines become more figurative/more poetic in that way. Show without defining context in abstractions. It will still draw the reader into the poem. But you'll have to be more imaginative. Abstract images remove the reader from holding the poem's emotion beyond reading; Concrete images stir the reader's emotions even more than what you have in the versified prose poem.
 
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