the sweet pink peach tea's joyful taste has escaped from my lips
the full bottle of the forgotten drink sits beside the coffee stained mug
the colourful polka-dots have silently faded from my painting canvas
instead, there sits dull spots of grime on the smooth, crying paper
empty candle cups collect dust like wishing wells
polaroids are scattered on the wooden floor
pictures of December taste like vague memories
text messages go back thousands of years
and every unspoken hour bottles up pools of forgotten stories
but illusions like your lies tell me last night is when we met
the drawing you gave me before you left
lies tear-stained and ripped in the autumn dried fireplace
the bygone, old envelope is the template for the invisible note
of when you never said goodbye
a rusted mirror on my desk doesn't show my face;
but reflects a stranger that knows all my secrets
holding one too many to keep
and you have always known how much I hate the taste of warm coffee after dawn
or the un-raked leaves left lonely beneath my feet
the incomplete peace disturbed by midnight birds
as the satisfaction of happiness, which it brings to some people
merley remind me of the bittersweet presence in your voice
which, so close, yet so distant-
grants the pleasure of a heart attack for just a second
and forces me onto my knees, begging
for you, when instead,
I wish to run.
a punched hole in my faith plasters jaggedly across my open chest wound
not even sorrow itself and cry away my misery
even pain, you’ve forbid me to feel; so now I am nothing, empty
like my very room; even it’s dull smell is tired of my exhausted breaths
as I lie here, waiting for the healer of time, for time to heal,
bittersweet has never felt so real
without my stolen heart or mind
you have taught me to live this blind
and now i am the forgotten, worthless dust you left behind.
Points:
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Canary word: Present
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125,013 Literary Works • 672,844 Reviews
Please feel free to ignore my advice, it is not meant to offend you hurt you or make your story seem bad or demean it, regardless of what I have stated brace your self for impact-that said . . .
1. What I liked
Wow . . .first of all I've read alot of poems about failed love from you guys and this one seems different. First of all you describe it as though this person is thinking about it from her perspective.
2. Style and word choice
First of all as SunSet Tree mentioned your last line doesn't match with the rest of the poem. I also think these lines the sweet pink peach tea's joyful taste has escaped from my lips
the full bottle of the forgotten drink sits beside the coffee stained mug
empty candle cups collect dust like wishing wells
don't bring anything to the poem. I think you should focus more on the scene where she is looking at pictures and text messages and what she thinks of those. Actually you should remove the usege of text message and maybe something a little more intimate. Or maybe describe the things she misses. Obviously I think you should have much less long sentences and more shorter ones like a formal poem.
3. Emotion
What I think this thing needs most is more emotion. Especially during the middle there. Where you mention the text and pictures of december. It'll greatly help I think.
4. Encouragment
I think those last two lines are amazing. I hope you write more poems with lines as powerful as those. Keep on posting!
5. Overall
This was well written. I could see how much feeling you guys have about this stuff. Loved it.
I think your poem could benefit quite a bit from playing around with form. Since this site's editor is terrible, what you could do is take a screenshot of a Word doc, crop it and then just upload the image. I'd like to see what this poem looks like with proper stanzas and the lines put into more specific locations with one another.
But your imagery is well done and it's easy to feel the speaker's pain, as well as picture this once wonderful scene that is now abandoned and desolate. The last line is especially very cutting. I feel like for the first line, "escaped" is a misfitting verb because I think of the word more in terms of something running away or leaving rather than disappearing, which I think would fit in better with the rest of the poem.