Published September 5, 2005
There Used To Be A Word For This.
She was a statue,
aesthetic and nothing more,
waiting to be granted a pedestal.
Inanimate when it came to finding her own,
expecting to find a kinder sculpter.
The long hard days of rest,
pluck her taut heartstrings.
Strangers voices telling her to pull harder.
She walks away,
her feet moving in time,
with what they used to call heartbeats.
Rhythmic searches lead to sudden endings.
They also called her nameless,
and she printed it in her eyes.
Hating the surface,
killing the hate like time.
Granting permission for unassisted suicide.
Depressingly modest,
fishing for compliments with dynamite,
dreaming of insomnia.
There used to be a word for this,
but it died in the wind with smoke rings and screams.
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141,258 Literary Works • 674,331 Reviews
It was pretty good and powerful, and the only thing that kept it from being better was that...I can't quite say, but it didn't really flow...you repeated lots of the same words....and the metaphors could've been bettter...try reworking it and see what you come up with, I'll be happy to take a look at it.
Otherwise, pretty good.
She killed herself with dynamight? Interesting. I've never heard that before.
Sorry... Not funny.
I like how its got all these metaphores. Especially the first two stanzas and the last two lines.
Oh yeah, my bad. Thanks for pointing that out. I hate it when that happens.
Thanks for the feedback.
"She was a statue,
aesthetic and nothing more,
waiting to granted a pedestal."
waiting to be granted a pedestal?
"Strangers voices telling her to pull harder."
Should be Strangers' I reckon.
Anyhoo, this was great. Especially the second-to-last stanza, that was just brilliant. Probably the least satisfying was the second stanza, it didn't really do much for me.