Gripping

dark side to romance, the suicide in it all

Gripping me tight
Blood oozes from the weeping wound

Easing out the tears drop
Salted and iconic in their desolate nature

And I sit here and grip the edges of my seat
My knuckles white with stress

And I breathe deeply
Trying to escape in the air's antidote

I close my eyes
Images of happier times flutter behind my lids

Bitterly I push them back
Behind the edge of conscious

I can't review those times
The fist inside me will squeeze too tight

The beats will stop
The veins will drain

Author's Note

everything welcomed and appreciated
i like criticism so don't hold back

Reviews

[Ice Queen of the Vampir..]

This is a powerful poem. Dark, intense, and nicely written. The imagery is vivid, I could see everything you described as I read. Great work!!!

Heather

[Ari]

I didn't want to like this, because I am sick of reading suicide poems. However, there are a lot of great lines in this, and the last two lines really inspired me. As a suggestion, maybe to be used in another poem, it would be interesting to use the idea of a heartbeat and a drumbeat, both fading. . . I don't know. I got a pretty strong image of a drum in the last two lines.

[Brett Campaigne]

'the air's antidote', thats a f*****g line! I enjoy your refreshing extrapolation of a moment and how you marry the visceral with the abstract and synthesize them into unity.

[emz]

i really liked this... it was a powerful account of pain and suffering.

very well written


x

[An owl on the moon]

Deep and dark, the words drip like blood... You amazingly capture the angst and pain of a suffering soul. I went through ten years of suicidal depression and you eloquently express what ran through my mind almost one too many times. Excellent write...

[i wish to win you with ..]

that was intense lol

[Adam Greenfield]

Once again, a clear voice, well-spoken, and well heard.

My only hang-up is the word "cheerily." I'm really not sure why that word bothers me. Even outside of this piece it reminds me of nails on a chalkboard. There's just something about that particular word that is all wrong. Again, it's not because of this piece; I just hate that word. Otherwise, hell of a write.

(I know not all writing is about the author but if this one is, I'm going to start worrying about you. Just part of the territory of knowing me. If you need anything, even if it's just an ear, please let me know.)

[Mistral Bilgera]

you better send this to the "suicide" contest.

i won't wonder if you already did. :)

good luck.