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Pine needle apathy.

Submitted by riotface97 on Thu, 2017-09-21 03:52

Pinpoint​ ​pupil​ ​liberty;
the​ ​bones​ ​of​ ​you,
the crooked, twisted fever ​dreams.
​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
Pull​ ​me​ ​out of ​this​ Mother,
take me away.

For perceptual​ ​ambiguity is;
a morning spent in polished​ ​glass portraiture
watching skin sag slowly away.

Phone them ​on​ ​the weekend,
say​ ​goodbye.

It gets​ ​quiet,​ ​in​ ​here,
sometimes.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Geezer

Thu, 2017-09-21 11:32

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out on a limb here, to say that I think that this is about an addict that is estranged from their family and thinking of suicide. I don't have any criticisms to give, but I like your presentation. ~ Gee.
.

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

riotface97

Mon, 2017-09-25 05:26

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Thanks for reading Gee, appreciate the feedback. A teacher in grade 8 told me not to use excessive dark themes in my poetry and, well, here we are... Thanks again and looking forward to checking out some of your work.

N

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Chiori

Fri, 2017-09-22 04:10

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nice poem

always remember to make a critique of other poems
using the hoe is not madness for nothing

riotface97

Mon, 2017-09-25 05:28

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You can call me Nick if you want, thanks so much for reading. Keen to give your work a read.

Nick.

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weirdelf

Sat, 2017-09-23 10:18

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Before estrangement from everyone you care about at all you could die, it's very easier on smack. I don't think you are though, you probably observed with insight.

First verse is excellent.
Second is typically whining junky, looking to get saved instead of being accountable.
The third is making excuses.
"Phone them on the weekend" is a typical junky guilt trip, trying to get sympathy and money.
And yes, being a junky is very fucking lonely.

Altogether so evocative of the abominable situation I personally found it repulsive, despite the cleverness and good writing. I was a junky from '78 to '94, clean since, and there is nothing cool or glamorous about it.

Sorry I have nothing to offer here. You know I usually love your work.

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
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riotface97

Mon, 2017-09-25 05:12

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Not addicted to anything, and I didn't mean to glorify heroin use. What I hoped to achieve was an epiphanic reaction provoked by the pleading, morose, even self-pitying persona suddenly becoming calm and objective in the end. Sort of like the way sometimes people get really calm before they die. He's resigned himself to the belief that he is no longer in control of his own fate. I've seen it before in a BBC doco about alcoholism. A 20-something is told he'll die if he keeps drinking but does so anyway. Just to clarify, I am not here to claim to know a drug users level of agency in their actions, merely explore the perspective of an addict who no longer believes themselves to have agency. Sorry it wasn't your type, will have some different newish stuff up soon enough. Once again, thanks for reading. Nick.

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