Three years have passed
Though it feels like three days
That you tortured my body
And mind.
The memory is vivid
Like a burning red flame
Piercing the dark with its heat.
Your steel bony fingers
Depriving me of air
And shriveling my lungs
To the point where they crumpled
As I lay motionless
On the floor.
It started a game
That no one could ever know
But ended with scars
And your plane ticket home.
With no one to turn to
But you with your mind,
The sick broken feature
That slowly molded mine
To believe there was something
A fantasy to jump into.
A dream I could live.
Fueled my desire to do it again.
Though waking up to the sound of a song
Played on a scratchy old radio
Was not my idea of the thing that you promised.
The cot was small and itchy
And the tube hurt my arm
As my head rang and throbbed.
The sagging old woman
Told me I fainted from lack of water
In the bubbling sweltering heat
In the center of a soccer field.
It is just you and I
That know the truth
Of the secret game played
By two messed up children
With stupid cold hands
And a need to escape
On a hot July day.
Three years have passed
Though it feels like three days
And shriveling my lungs
I don't think there is a length limit on how long a poem can be. But I would suggest that you make your stanzas the same length-it is easiers for the reader to comprehend that way. I wish you could have alluded a little more to what exactly the game was. I spent a lot of the time trying to figure out what it was and missed out on a lot of your poem and had to go back and reread. Besides, I'm just curious. I don't particularly care for the last stanza. The language used doesn't seem to quite fit in with the rest of it. Try to tweak that if at all possible. As a whole, I did enjoy reading this. Keep up the good work.
It was good.
Thats what I can say of it without going too into detail.
But since this is a critique, I think I should.
It was very Generic, in alot of it terms and metaphores, I think this would have been a great read if you had just put more into the feel.
Pathos, friend, Pathos.
It was relatively long, even for a work of this genre, but I still think it could have used a bit of a fine tuning so it diddnt feel like a patchwork poem.
Work on it?
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