Quicksand Tiles

You walk in on me where I've bled
all over your kitchen floor.
It's watery, dripping over all the sugars
that I've been measuring and weighing
for the past forty days.
Curses spat in the kitchen sink,
spilling out with stomach acid,
half-dissolved pills and ulcers
in your broken heart.
I writhe into your arms,
but your hands are busy with cancersticks and cardboard.
Smoke blows in my face,
blood's steam burns my pores open,
just in time to welcome words:

"I don't want to get sick, baby."

I hacked up promises that I'd stop bleeding
for you, if only you didn't make my heart beat so...

but who could hear lies drowned in
puddles of blood.

(who would bother to listen?)

i read these words and i think why bother i'll never be able to write something that aches and hurts as much as this. you have a singular talent. don't ever give this up. even when you're 70.

Hello!
It is certainly unique, and we need that in our world.

xanthan gum wrote:I writhe into your arms,
but your hands are busy with cancersticks and cardboard.

There were several sections, like this one, that didn't flow right, because one line was too many syllables. I wanted to point out this line in particular, because I've never heard of a cancerstick, and was wondering if you meant candlestick. If not, you might want to chose a more familiar word, if there is one.

Keep up the good work!


McMourning

It's a cigg, darling. Thanks for pointing out the break in rhythm, though.

Sorry, I wasn't thinking that early in the morning.
Thanks for pointing that out.

The cancerstick line didn't really bother me in terms of rhythm. Actually, I felt it was rather well done there, except for the fact that it sticks out visually, but what do I know about rhythm? The line that bothered me was:

It's watery, dripping over all the sugars

The first syllable in "watery" is long, and it felt really strange to have that accented interruption so early in the sentence. Maybe just, "It's like water, dripping over all the sugars." Also, why is "sugars" plural? I'm assuming you meant something deeper than the difference between white and brown sugar.

that I've been measuring and weighing
for the past forty days.

What is the significance of forty days? I know that in religious texts, "forty" is used to represent something large, as in, forty days = a very long time.

Curses spat in the kitchen sink,
spilling out with stomach acid,
half-dissolved pills and ulcers
in your broken heart.

This was a bit convoluted for my taste. Metaphor upon metaphor, know what I mean? It was a lot to have the stomach and heart in one sentence as well.

but who could hear lies drowned in
puddles of blood.

Would you like a question mark with that?

Colleen

You are very gifted and i don't have anything to critique because you are much better than i. Keep it up! (seriously)

~~*Judi Patootie*~~

This poem aches and hurts, it throbs with raw emotion.
And I have to ask, how many problems does your speaker have??
S/he smokes, has an eating disorder? is OCD? is breaking the heart of his/her loved one/s?

I may be being very stupid, but I had problems getting past the metaphors for the meanings, and I'm wondering what was going on.
Sugar and forty days reminded me of Lent, but...you're not supposed to have sugar during Lent, so that's not it...
And the ciggarette (I didn't get the cancerstaick thing, either, but maybe it's a common expression wherever you live), and the stomach bleeding/ulcers/vomit?, I didn't get the connection there.
Please make it a little clearer what exactly is going on in the speaker's life, what her issue/s are.

Since sugar is abstained from during Lent, the character's measuring symbolizes this holding back process, the simple salivating over these pleasures. Likewise, the bleeding of the stomach is somewhat convoluted, I agree. It's depicting the intenal problems of the speaker, how they have burned holes in their insides that can never be healed. The vomit examples the body or soul's need to attempt to purge itself of their poisons, resulting in an ultimate acidic parasite of the body unto the body. (or soul unto the soul)

Sara,


Good to see your stuff again. It keeps getting better in a random walk.

Kill the first two lines.

Give "Curses spat in the kitchen sink, / spilling out with stomach acid, / half-dissolved pills and ulcers / in your broken heart." some more thought. If this was mine, I'd drop it.

I liked "cancersticks" and the phraseology overall.

Consider cutting the last four lines. The rest of the poem doesn't engage in the sort of lame pontificating you present there. Perhaps rearrange so as to read:

blood's steam burns my pores open,
just in time to welcome words.
I hacked up promises that I'd stop bleeding:

"Baby, I don't want to get sick."


Take care,
Brad