insignificant to the naked eye

without a fix,
words flow on in a semblance of rationality,
as all balance is lost under a pretense of vigor.
under the influence,
the pulse of my diminishing mind paces slow,
falling rapidly toward the flats of impassivity.
shaking of withdraw,
skin crawls across bone, lacking chill or reason,
the absence of a stimulant barring practical function.
weary of insignificance,
my mind and soul are in dire need of being elsewhere,
alas, elsewhere never tends to be enough, in the end.

Reviews

[Solst Rapture]

Hey, so, I am the first to read this poem. Are you new to poetry? Firstly, let me say that I know it can be rough receiving reviews, especially when reviewers say things you're not particularly interested in hearing, which is why reviewers notes are useful, but presumably you're interested in writing poetry better?


I'm no expert but I'm doing a degree and am getting better. Unfortunately my Uni work is not on here as they do a scan and it'd find the site, which I'd rather not happen, so I post little bits and bobs that I intend to come back to.

So, I'm Solst - I'm not that in to metaphysical poetry but I'd say that I felt what you felt; it was 'without a fix' all the way through. Your 'words flow on in a semblance of rationality,' yet I am destabilized by the idea of vigor, let alone its presence, to the point where, under its influence, my mind ceases up and I fall horrible, anticipating pain but no, nothing comes and I am removed and it feels strange, insensible, nothing about me to motivate, kick start me - I'm forgotten, lost, nowhere, but all I want is to be somewhere, elsewhere, but, when I arrive, 'the pulse of my diminishing mind paces slow' and I, well I guess I fall again. A bit like precipitation.

A very quick read but it could easily be seen as a terrible poem but I want to acknowledge your intelligence - for me the poem makes me feel terrible, which is not what I read poetry for, but hey ho.

Keep on writing!