Etta paints her face in an array of color every morning, when she gets ready for work, to erase the pain within her face. Her physical scars are dabbled with beige, and then dusted over with transluscent power. Then she roses up her cheeks with rouge, and dabs some brown on her eyelids to cleanse away the tracks from her tears whenever she thinks about her life filled emotional crises that consumes her soul, burns her heart, and drains her sprit of energy to the point of strangling her will. The waters within her soul grow wild with desolation whenever the crows feed on her flesh, and drop her bones into her icy visions of despair. The sun burns hotter and the days get longer. The older she gets, the wiser she becomes; thus, using the holistic light as a source of ignition when her inner power is eclipsed.
Her dying breath is captured by frosty visions lurking in the tortured realms of her wounded mind. Throughout the suffering days and murdered nights, she aches to be loosened from the prongs of truth that imprisoned her with their malicious bite. For this is the ugliness that creeps within Etta's frolicking veins, shouting, "Lord of my blistered memories, come save me from this feverish storm that threatens to descecrate my wholesome tongue. For I am the stake that has been driven into your somber body. I summon up the army of darkness to help me fulfill a broken promise I made to the singing moon, and share with you the shouting voices that surround my mirth whenever I am alone in the shallowness of the wolf's bleeding waters."
Forever be not the cause of this cosmetic crawler the hosts causal fluidity frolicing inside her troubled spell. If only to become the resonating light that gleams down on the glossy tombs, and sandwiches Etta between the gates of fire and the dancing doors. Neither one can erase the savage creed that dwells within her jailed spirit. However, when the drifter settles back into her mystic eyes, only then will she create a means to crawl out from the crippled dungeon that is lulled by her stolen melody.
Etta walks away from the ghost of her reflection, and sinks into the mesh of her depression. She hastily looks through the drawrers in the bathroom until she manages to find what she is looking for. Upon gliding out the razor from her shaver, she then pierces it into her fleshy arm and lets her deathly sustenace drip unto the floor.
There is deep imagery present that aids in expressing the suffering prolonged by the persona with use of colourful metaphor that paint a vivid picture of this. I am very intrigued with your choice of words that does nothing but make this a great piece of writing.
This expanded version is much more engaging, and the imagery is deeper. The line, ""Lord of my blistered memories, come save me from this feverish storm that threatens to descecrate my wholesome tongue" is a definite keeper. It's amazing the things you come up with in your rewrites. I would like to see a poem or prose piece from you that involved some serious concrete imagery. I love the elegance of your metaphor, but occasionally the reader needs a chunk of blatant reality thrown in front of their eyes to generate the correct level of impact.
The imagery was decent, and there was a nice dabbling of metaphor, but I've seen more power devices from you. I agree with Kairi, a bit a formatting/grammar can go a long way for a poem. The poem seems somewhat incomplete, the inner struggle left only half addressed by the end. Explore further the wonderful set of metaphor of the face and makeup you've already got, and expand them to plumb the depths of her struggle. She, the subject, needs more time to get her voice.
Fairly good imagery, I really wish that you had spaced it out a little more and had alot less commas.
When I was reading it I felt like I had to be rushed to the end, a poem has to flow, not stop and drop dead
mid-sentance because you put a comma where it was not needed.
Other than that, it was a great read and it captured the feelings the girl had very well.
Good Job.
I know so many women that deals with this type of pain that you captured so well. As a reader I felt like you took me into the mind of this woman as she is getting ready to face the world with her scars and weakness. Great write here.
wow, this is powerful and passionately artful, as well as alive in emotion, the reader can't help but feel a sense of entanglement that identifies the meaning, personally loved the images of the crows and bones.
beautiful job, sad and hearttugging. a pleasure to read. keep it up!
Reading this poem with it's imagery, i am reminded of the things, i have done to hide the damage to me. Not always successful. Personally, i wish that i have reached the stage in my life that your last line talks about. Thank you for sharing this poem with us.
Graduate of Western Michigan University with a BA degree in Writing, which has been my passion since the tender age of six. Grew up in Kalamazoo, Michigan where I currently reside. I love to read al.. more..