Morbid Insulation

Belabor has become of me. Derailed imaginations spark felicitously in my wooly-cotton conscience that cadence down to my feet in sundered patterns.

Ink.
Drips.
Down.

Echo.

The shattered glass writhes in shrill aversion as my feet cautiously walk the cold exploration of the chamber. How did I get here? I wonder, in fear of staying here for my eternity.
The door is barred and the handle is rusted for I am not strong enough to break through each. There is only a dim light in the room and that is my own arm, set on fire from all the pain inside of me. I cannot feel it; it has just been a numb flame since the beginning when it ignited in my heart. All has been lacerated and twisted, a battlefield after a war.

Destroyed.

But who is the one to blame? None other than I, the one who burned her bridges with her oddness, so long to being yourself, for it’s as vulnerable as your backside and is, of course, as blind as your backside. So now that flame burns gloriously within me and is starting the break the skin, no wonder others stay away, I am strange. Am I?

Yes, that is correct, I am strange.
As strange as a carnival creature, blind, barred in a cage, with others pondering me in fear.

Talk about a life of dreams,
There is no way out, there is only walking in the same old path in the same intertwining labyrinth.
But mine is small, and full of faded hope.

Let me say it again,

Faded hope.

It sounds beautiful, and you are a very eloquent speaker, but i can't decipher it.

volleychik992 wrote:It sounds beautiful, and you are a very eloquent speaker, but i can't decipher it.

what do you mean by that?

I really thought that was wonderful. You have a really great writing voice.

Okay - I'm a line break fiend, so this sort of irks me. Another thing -

Ink.
Drips.
Down.

how about this -

"Ink
drips
down."

it's the same effect, just not grammatically incorrect this time.

I am strange. Am I?

Yes, that is correct, I am strange.

i think you wasted way too much time on this aspect. and it was awkward, not eloquent like the rest of the poem. keep a steady pace with your writing, and you'll be fine.

What on Earth are you talking about. I have no idea what I just read. You might want to explain it at the end of the story? Poem? Thing.

Not quite your standard poem, eh?

My favorite part has to be this:

Belabor has become of me. Derailed imaginations spark felicitously in my wooly-cotton conscience that cadence down to my feet in sundered patterns.

Ink.
Drips.
Down.

Echo.

Why? Because of the imagery. You have this adjective clogged lines at first, which are practically unreadable. (By the way, you should probably cut down some of the adjectives and adverbs.) Nonetheless, what you're basically saying is imaginations are sliding down from your feet into a pool of patterns. So it's like all these words (because a poet uses words to express his imagination) are sliding down, like water, and going into a pool of liquid at your feet in these patterns of jumbled words.

Then, to express yourself clearly, you say the next three lines. You say the same things (except you expand by calling this ink instead of a liquid imagination) and you seperate each word with a period. So it stands out, and rather powerfully at that.

Then, a lone echo is there. The words reverberate into nothingness. This, my friend, is powerful imagery, and it's cool.

The rest of your poem was more of fillerthough, for me anyways. You go off in a tangent and you don't really come back. If I read it over again, then I can see where you're going at (a poet becoming a circus animal) which is a very interesting imagery, but it can be put in a much better way which isn't so obtuse. Right now, it's nightmarish, which I think was your intention, but you have to clarify it (if only a smidgen) to make it flow a bit better.

Anyway, it was a very interesting piece of poetry.

Mmm..I liked this. I really like the form. It started off really strong, but sort of got bogged down in its prosaic nature later on. I used to write poetry like this all the time until I realized that all too often I ended up writing too much but saying very little. I just think there are a lot of words that could be removed. But I DID like it, it was nice.

It's overcrowded with imagery, I don't understand it at all, grammar isn't that hot


But it's beautiful.


Much love

Alicexoxoxox

It was beautiful. I understood it, or at least it held something for me.

But...it seemed you headed into one direction and then changed your mind and altered your confinement, a whir of images.