Statistics

Just wrote this, but am about to head out and thought I'd post it.
I'm hoping it's coherent to everyone else. Thanks for reading. c:


She ran hot water over her hand.
The blue of her veins turned green to her eyes,
stained through with the color of her skin.
Under the turbulence of faucet water, mineralsmineralsminerals
and no good for drinking, her blood rushed
up towards Heaven, pulse beating back bones
as it fought to the surface.

It reminded her of mortality.
She was only human, and, like all humans,
sometimes forgot that. But she longed to remember,
to see all the number and statistics
rush and beat and play music
under the overlarge organ that was her skin.
She wanted to know how many
ways she could die today: how many cars could hit her, how many stairs
she could fall down, how many stray
bullets could catch her by the ribcage and shove her soul
out between heaving lungs.
She didn't even have to leave the house.
The oven, the stove, the windows that tipped precariously up, up, up,
because she lived on the attic floor of her apartment building:
all opportunities.

A single drop of water flew
from the turbulence in the sink, and hit her cheek.
Ah. There they were:
the mountains of science grew from her hands.
She took her hand out from under the spigot, and
moved her hand this way and that
in the light. It glistened.
Only 4.4% of deaths were caused by accidents.
But that would be enough.

There was the science. Here were the statistics. This was how she could die today.

Spoiler

Should I take out the

Only 4.4% of deaths were caused by accidents.
But that would be enough.

part?

This is interesting. Maybe because I didn't read it enough times or I didn't read this well enough, but I just don't understand what you're getting at.
-Is your character depressed with herself and wants to die?
-Is she paranoid about death?
Or is it something else, sorry if I'm not reading this as you would have liked.
However, keep that line. It's a good touch.
Keep writing!
-Alex

Persephoneia wrote:She ran hot water over her hand. Good start!
The blue of her veins turned green in her eyes, This line sounds odd: it sounds too unrelated to the first line, and is longer as well.
stained through with the color of her skin. I like this line, but I'm not quite sure what it means.
Under the turbulence of faucet water, mineralsmineralsminerals
and no good for drinking, her blood rushed Great two lines.
up towards Heaven, pulse beating back bones Say "beating back bones" five times fast.
as it fought to the surface.

It reminded her of mortality. Say this in a different way.
She was only human, and, like all humans, This wording is too sophisticated for poetry. Keep it simple.
sometimes forgot that. But she longed to remember,
to see all the numbers and statistics
rush and beat and play music
under the overlarge organ that was her skin. Hmm. Tweak the wording here a bit.
She wanted to know how many
ways she could die today: how many cars could hit her, how many stairs Long line.
she could fall down, how many stray
bullets could catch her by the ribcage and shove her soul
out between heaving lungs.
She didn't even have to leave the house. Not sure you need this line.
The oven, the stove, the windows that tipped precariously up, up, up,
because she lived on the attic floor of her apartment building: Or this line.
all opportunities.

A single drop of water flew
from the turbulence in the sink, and hit her cheek. When you use a powerful word, like "turbulence," more than once in a poem, it really loses its meaning the second time.
Ah. There they were:
the mountains of science grew from her hands.
She took her hand out from under the spigot, and Second time you used "hand" in two lines.
moved her hand this way and that ...Third time.
in the light. It glistened.
Only 4.4% of deaths were caused by accidents.
But that would be enough.

There was the science. Here were the statistics. This was how she could die today. Great!

I loved this! I liked the rhythm, and the somewhat matter-of-fact voice. Nice work!

-Kafka

Cool poem! To begin with, editing time:

She ran hot water over her hand.
The blue of her veins turned green Eelz says: I'd break this line here.
to her eyes, stained through with the color of her skin.
Under the turbulence of faucet water, mineralsmineralsminerals
and no good for drinking, her blood rushed
up towards Heaven, pulse beating back bones
as it fought to the surface.

It reminded her of mortality.
She was only human, and, like all those,
sometimes forgot that. But she longed to remember, to see
all the number and statistics
rush and beat and play music
under the overlarge organ that was her skin.
She wanted to know how many
ways she could die today: how many cars could hit her, how many stairs
she could fall down, how many stray
bullets could catch her by the ribcage and shove her
soul out between heaving lungs.
She didn't even have to leave the house.
The oven, the stove, the windows that tipped precariously up, up, up,
because she lived on her attic floor of the apartment building:
all opportunities.

A single drop of water Eelz says: more line break changing. ^^;
flew from the turbulence maelstrom in the sink, and hit her cheek.
Ah. There they were:
the mountains of science grew from her hands.
She took her hand out from under
the spigot: moved it this way and that
in the light.
It glistened.
Only 4.4% of deaths were caused Eelz says: another break, uh-huh.
by accidents. But that would be enough.

There was the science. Here were the statistics. This was how she could die today.

Love the morbid curiosity of the speaker; the last line really closed everything nicely.
Wonderful as per your usual - keep writing! =]

Perse, it's been a while since I've reviewed anything by you, so here goes nothing.

This is very impressing, in fact it's one of my favourite poems by you. It's quite dark, but it's easy to follow through. It was a great read. I didn't like the beginning of this particularly but as you continued on and hit the second stanza -stanza?- it got better, and the general build up and flow increased. It gradually drew me in until I noticed that the poem had ended.

Great poem.

Keep the bit with the stats on it.

Hope this helped,

Anger