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Pine needle apathy.

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
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Comments

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.
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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

author comment

nice poem

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

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

Nick.

author comment

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
Neopoet Managing Directors, with Richard (themoonman)

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.

author comment
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