Young Writers Society

Blue strokes which reach to sharp ditches
and back up again
clutter the page arrogantly,
turning sincerety into a childish attempt.

And lines like awkward water
scoff from beneath at
execrable errors, with
piercing blue arrows making a hole in the page.

Careless fingers smudge like night smudges
the clean day,
ominous, oily black marks
sprawled across hot white.

And the end cackles in its throat,
curled scrawl slanting,
contaminating the entirety.
And numbers cling to the paper

with their claws, standing upright
and murderously coherant.
Misspelt collections of letters
lie comforatbly on pearly sand.

So to tattoo someone's saliva on paper
is just as good as sticking your own
finger down your throat.
Blue eyes boring into

pretty flesh does not a thing.
It goes on shimmering and glittering
even in the most dirty of nights,
my paleness glinting with unhealthiness.
written: Monday 31st May, 2004, 3:40pm

Great description, as usual. The only thing I was unsure about was the sentences continuing into the next stanza, particularly the last time. Good work.

Yeah, i have to agree with Matt. As usual, very good. I feel kinda bad, that I don't have anything to say...but I seriously don't.

'Careless fingers smudge like night smudges
the clean day,
ominous, oily black marks
sprawled across hot white.'-

Oh my gosh, I loved that stanza. At first, I was going to pester you about using the word 'smudges' twice in one line, but then I thought differently...lol. But, I think this was perhaps the best stanza in the poem.

Where do you come up with this stuff?! This was great!