Confession for the Forgotten Years

When writerscafe deleted the world, was there enough of me left, after all the lost words, to hold the line? Where was my mind?

Can I confess to you the horrors of a forgotten mind?

The gargling and spitting of bile-digested terror

Set for breakfast, sans candle and wine

Making the time the diner menu

For the staring

For the rubbing

For the hold on the bible’s lines

With no blinking noticeable at the ticking tock

Work showing the grit n’ maw, sent up knocking

Three times for good luck, but that mirror image

All broken, stabbed my foot as I got off

For the blood

For the control

For nothing n’ the more

Cause design wasn’t justice enough, to

Hold up my jaw from the floor, brightly wicked

Wordy speeches, talked the partners to off themselves

Decorating darling naked, the theater, full of noose chandeliers

For lack of eyes

For lack of wit in years

For now, all of nothing in me lives here.

Reviews

[Hawksmoor]

Cause design wasn't justice enough, to

Hold up my jaw from the floor, brightly wicked

Wordy speeches, talked the partners to off themselves

Decorating darling naked, the theater, full of noose chandeliers

For lack of eyes

For lack of wit in years

For now, all of nothing in me lives here.

The entire piece flows and is very clear in its points, but these lines, man...THESE motherfuckin lines!

These lines challenge the reader to say or think anything different at all. These lines, s**t, I felt them looking at me. That make sense? Probably not, but that's how it felt, reading them.

You know, there are many people here now who told people like you and me to stop bitching...go whine someplace else for our lost "thoughts" or "work". Thing is, unless you really love what it is you do with your gift, with your talent, you wouldn't understand the kind of pain that came with the loss of so much of what you've done. S**t, the loss of quite a bit of yourself. Believe me, Logan...I know EXACTLY how you felt. I know how you still feel.

The loss of so much of myself (even if it was my fault for growing too comfortable with the site to bother saving s**t on my pc) tore me apart in a way I've never been.

Enough about me.

I feel your disgust, loss, and pain in this one.

Most of all, I feel your clear sense of disassociation.

Your mind had made some of its most brilliant tracks of your life, walking through these once thriving isles.

When it's all swept away, what is there of the best of you left?

Goddamn RIGHT, man.

I know.

I KNOW.

Thank you for writing this.

Hawksmoor...From The Bleed.

[Jerrica Benton]

brendan.

i have given up sleeping in lieu of reading yr writing like i promised.

i have no idea what the hell yr talking about here but i enjoy the rhythmic way you say it.

[Mark]

Logan,

Excellent work. Took me forever to find and read. My bad. Here was my attempt to express:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/ghostwriter/210073/

[Michael X]

wow, this is A great poem in concept and idea,
the wording doesnt justify the vision, it's weaker than the concept itself,
therefor, imo, I think you could revise this poem at least one more time
and it could become a masterfully produced work to ponder,
needs more detail, or maybe its the lack of form, free form or otherwise,
although in the big picture it was a pleasure to read, and I liked it,

[Anima Inspired]

In the face of tragedy, beauty is born... This was a poignant piece, written with a skilled and polished hand. I love the way that you brought together all of the physical and mental elements in this piece...you connected the concrete to the soul.

Work showing the grit n' maw, sent up knocking
Three times for good luck, but that mirror image
All broken, stabbed my foot as I got off
--powerful lines...

[Laura E. Aranda]

I hated the lose that the cafe went thru...it was devastating. There were pieces that I had written that I did not have saved anywhere else.....

[Boyd Johnson]

for now, all of nothing in me lives here.

great ending line. really stabs. gives me an image of a man standing on a open road with a cigarette in his mouth, continuing on becuase, but not only, he doesnt know what else to do.

you've never disappointed.