In crystal balls, we lack the present

Strawberry pink on the decisive blue lines
As the taste of postage stamps linger on tongues
Flashing by countless bright yellow street signs
Here we have fallen - so honest, so young
Here lingers our lips on the songs we have sung

So tired, the air in the worn room is taut
As we exchange philosophies in salty half-tears
Lying, carpeted, sweaty hand in hand caught
Here below a mirror - the barricades near
We're kept here by ignorance and suppressed by fear

Sacred and trivial, our promises are real
As higher power pressure never fluttered off walls
We search, alone, lips to an envelope seal
Ear to frosted window - an echo, a call
But there's nothing, as morning is coming and here we can fall

I would love to dub this tragedy
As we're rusted and wiped of our gleam
But I'm aware I'm a secondary casualty
This tomb is mine - I'm collateral in the larger scheme
Alone and paper-cut: my fate, my future, all foreseen

I hate to leave this without a critique, but I find it hard to say anything.

Its good. I can say that much. You have in fact earned a hug. *hug* But I haven't got any real constructive criticism at this point. Everything seems to be technically correct. (As correct as poetry can be considered to be) and everything flows nice and smoothe. (mmm, smoothie.)

What I don't like, and this is personal preference and can be completely ignored, is the dark, gothic nature. There is an overabundance of this type of poetry, and it becomes increasingly difficult to find it appealing.

Aside from that, its interesting, and the title compels one to read further, which is always good.

very very beautiful...the rhythm by the end of the poem made me stop reading the poem, though, and made me read the rhythm...if you know what I mean. Also, I'm in a hurry, ha. Thought it was very very beautiful, though.