Maybe I'm smudges of refuse abandoned in ashtrays,
spider veins clambering through bloodshot eyes,
angry words spoken in breaking voices.
Maybe I'm light glimmering on kitchen knives,
the combination to my parents' locked medicine cabinet,
gentle wind whispering through an open fourth-story window.
Notions of my identity are chaos,
a chattering hum swelling into a screeching crescendo,
climbing onto each other's shoulders and gaining strength
until I can't block them out.
Not with my sweat-drenched pillow
a radio with strained speakers
or the distant ache of my shredded lips.
In the silence, my thoughts cut me.
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139,407 Literary Works • 672,552 Reviews
Hey there!
Wow. So I really enjoyed this. I thought it was well written, and had that serious edge to it without being that stereotypical "dark" "deep" angst poem. A few minor details that I thought could improve this were:
~ "Maybe I'm smudges of refuse, abandoned in ashtrays" (I think adding a comma there will add a pause that will strength the phrase)
~.....I can't even point out anymore!
This is plain fantastic, or to me it is, so please do keep up the -awesome- writing!
~Epic
Thanks!