Gammahydroxybutyrate

all we say comes out as speak-easy whispers,
simple as breathing into the spaces between us.
now that I know that I’m in love with him,
his hands cover my mouth, whisper

[don't fight it]

a garden blooms with life when we breathe
into each other. moons pull waves of emotion
over our bed sheets, as clean as celestial and
white virgin snow.
He spreads disease down my vertebrae, burning
matches all along the way, lapping up my
inventions like words are crisp bits of breakfast,
dewberries that can be gathered at my palate.

groping spiders die on wax candles: he rests.
unchaining our fingers, lullabying me to sleep amongst
derelict spirits of a parking lot, whose eyes weep blind,
trying to spot stars on an asphalt sky.

Smiles on the tips of my fingers, I cannot feel the mist
buzzing blood in the back of my brain. I sense not
butterflies blooming backward, scoping a source and
finding disconnections, regressing to where I am again
raped and left for dead.

*hugs this poem, then steps away, terrified that her hug has crushed its fragile amazingness*
Obviously, I like your poem. I can totally see this being read at some dark, downtown cafe at midnight. It has great rhythm like that.

white virgin snow.

Most people know that new, virgin snow is white, so it can be taken out. However, taking out that word would screw up the rhythm, so I suggest finding another one-syllable word that's more descriptive than "white".

I like that most of it isn't capitalized (except for "I", but that's an exception) but why did you capitalize only "He" and "Smiles"? Is it important? Is the message "He smiles"? I doubt that. I vote for uncapping them.

Squee. Your poem = my happiness.

Colleen

I liked the idea of the poem. But it could be cut down to so little.

A lot of the lines you use to describe are rather superfluous.

moons pull waves of emotion
over our bed sheets, as clean as celestial and
white virgin snow.
He spreads disease down my vertebrae, burning
matches all along the way, lapping up my
inventions like words are crisp bits of breakfast,
dewberries that can be gathered at my palate.

For basics, Moon is not capitalized. The first sentence there, from what it reads, the emotion is "as clean as celestial and
white virgin snow." which makes no sense. As clean as celestial? What? And how is emotion white as (virgin) snow? "lapping up my
inventions like words are crisp bits of breakfast,
dewberries that can be gathered at my palate." this here, it makes no sense. I'll sum everything up at the end, right now I'm just pointing it all out.

groping spiders die on wax candles: he rests.
unchaining our fingers, lullabying me to sleep amongst
derelict spirits of a parking lot, whose eyes weep blind,
trying to spot stars on an asphalt sky.

The parts of this that made sense: he rests, lullabying me to sleep, of a parking lot, on an asphalt.

Smiles on the tips of my fingers, I cannot feel the mist
buzzing blood in the back of my brain. I sense not
butterflies blooming backward, scoping a source and
finding disconnections, regressing to where I am again
raped and left for dead.

the only part of this that makes sense: regressing to where I am again (maybe), raped and left for dead.

What I'm trying to say is: You are describing things, but I have NO idea what you are describing. The majority of this poem is nothing, there isn't action, there isn't understandable description, there isn't anything we can relate to and take from it. It's purple prose, but not even done in a flower sort of way. It's jumbled, it makes no sense. Honestly, what ARE you describing within this poem? Someone is raped by the person they loved. But 95% of this poem has nothing to do with that, and is describing things that don't exist and don't bring anything to the poem at all.

But, I'll say something nice, this could be a good poem. The idea you are trying to make is a good one. But if you would describe actions, or more specific things (his arms, her cries, the cars, the atmosphere) rather than abstract ideas (Smiles on the tips of my fingers) it would be much more impressive.

Gammahydroxybutyrate is a date rape drug. I hope this translates some of the imagery for you, as it is more centered on the chemical reactions taking place in the body than the outside enviroment. If this is still no clearer in comparison, than I apologize for the assumptions I made.

Still, I thank you. I now have cited the areas in most need of revision for this piece, and will furthermore be sure to reign in my metaphorical ravings for the sake of coherency in future poems.

...how is it that you can make a rape scene sound so pretty?

Nice stuff as usual.

i love the idea and it drags you in to it.
makes you feel involved in what it is going on
its great

This poem is perhaps one of my favourites on YWS.

I love how you make the rape scene so beautiful with the words "lullyby" and light, sweet imagery. I adore your semi-metaphorical descriptions of the spiders.

The last line is so powerful because many people think it is unexpected.

I adored this poem. Well done.

This made me feel like I was there, in the poem, having it happen to me, personally. That is exactly what poetry should do. It's beautiful and I love it .

*smiles and reads it again*

I would only change the caps...That can make things confusing. Either stick with no caps, or all caps correct, but dont mix them please? Lol, thanks.

Keep up the beautiful imagery in your future writing. It will take you far.