Coral squash love ache.

[big baby]

I ought'a revisit the outer zone of cognizance given, where a tower drawn is symbolic as power thrones, or phallic exhibits. Attempt to accomplish prose til' i'm out of it, grinning', a dauber that's dipping enamel acrylic. He says wow to his gimmicks, proud of what is and what isn't. Til' the pavement is pounded, cemented, & hours are minutes. Powerless sorceress conquered. Shot-glass the cognac. The roar of monster, that scours the Rorschach. Songs beings written, while the drippin of paint stains the apostle. Where exchanges are made and you jot quotes. Focused by the strum of the love notes. The recoil of the arm when you shoot-- not the powder or gun-smoke. Devour Picasso in the moments where sound doesn't come close. The renaissance marker, is brilliant. This is art for the cynics, departure distilled. Pour water & snippet his art. The author revealed. Inside of a coffin, it isn't hard to ponder ordeal. What he's thinking is different, between sketching what his heart is depicting. A horror. It's vicious, dishonor; unveiled. Take it up with the alcoholic who forgot about the dollar bill in his wallet. Sniff the flowery pollen, while passion is sung. It's ashes to ashes to blackness and we all fall down. The lump in my throat was caught by the cat on my tongue. Pastorless, smug. Puzzle piece, waiting for the rapture to come. Swallowing pride undetected, but yacked up my lungs. Resurrection of evil. Where resident captives sing while sober. The color's pink, mild coral, come to think, her aroma, holy shit, wild; coked-up. bolded print, nice persona, mocha skin, mind is solar. quoted things, we coexist till no one thinks, our souls are links to supernovas. its like molded fissure til' i'm on the sink, eyes are swole up, holding hands while in coma. Whole existence tied to joker, who would think this guys a poser?, so he lies and thinks to iron stitch. He ties his holes up. Deprived of things, lifes a cold stud. Tries to sing, but writhes and stings. Oh why just me? I want a life of closure, have some kids, ride and drink, smile and wink,playin 'first to blink' with the cobra. It's miles til it's mild again. He's had it, he tells everybody it was a 'accident' for the evident chip on his shoulder, but what can he do except try and be lucid, cause you rather them think nothings there, than for them to lie and see through it

[PancakeBrah]

hehe ty men

[Template]

Attempt to accomplish prose til' i'm out of it, grinning', a dauber that's dipping enamel acrylic. He says wow to his gimmicks, proud of what is and what isn't. Til' the pavement is pounded, cemented, & hours are minutes.


Very dope. I like this bb da bb

[DexLabb]

same shit, different post. change ur name to redundant BITCH

[big baby]

never doing loveaches for u guys agen ever

[Certain]

I ought'a revisit the outer zone of cognizance given, where a tower drawn is symbolic as power thrones, or phallic exhibits.

The defining of defining masculity was an interesting choice to lead off with in a verse titled as a love ache. One minor wording issue here, that "symbolic as" should be "symbolic of."

Attempt to accomplish prose til' i'm out of it, grinning', a dauber that's dipping enamel acrylic. He says wow to his gimmicks, proud of what is and what isn't. Til' the pavement is pounded, cemented, & hours are minutes. Powerless sorceress conquered. Shot-glass the cognac. The roar of monster, that scours the Rorschach. Songs beings written, while the drippin of paint stains the apostle. Where exchanges are made and you jot quotes.

The writer-as-painter metaphor is pretty worn out, but the phrasing was strong here. You still haven't hit your full stride, but you've set the tone. This is the case for most of your work; you start slowly but build to a furious if combustible pace. The stop-start feel of your sentence structures always has interested me. You make it work because of the collage of textures in your writing.

Focused by the strum of the love notes. The recoil of the arm when you shoot-- not the powder or gun-smoke. Devour Picasso in the moments where sound doesn't come close. The renaissance marker, is brilliant. This is art for the cynics, departure distilled. Pour water & snippet his art. The author revealed. Inside of a coffin, it isn't hard to ponder ordeal. What he's thinking is different, between sketching what his heart is depicting.

I'm going longer than perhaps normal for me with the quote lengths because this piece is more tightly wound than most of your writing. In that sense, I enjoy it more. It's focused. And you here build your lead character really well. I think you could have avoided using "art" in consecutive sentences. "Ponder ordeal" was a clunky phrasing, too. But the shining moments of this section were really strong, building a sense that we have a very complicated relationship with this artist or author.

A horror. It's vicious, dishonor; unveiled. Take it up with the alcoholic who forgot about the dollar bill in his wallet. Sniff the flowery pollen, while passion is sung. It's ashes to ashes to blackness and we all fall down. The lump in my throat was caught by the cat on my tongue. Pastorless, smug. Puzzle piece, waiting for the rapture to come. Swallowing pride undetected, but yacked up my lungs.

This was a bit out of step because it felt like you were taking the emotional connections built in the stanza before and pushing us away a little. The clever witticisms were clever witticisms, but they broke the voice of the author and caused me to detach a little. And the rhyming was a bit more slanted than ideal.

Resurrection of evil. Where resident captives sing while sober. The color's pink, mild coral, come to think, her aroma, holy shit, wild; coked-up. bolded print, nice persona, mocha skin, mind is solar. quoted things, we coexist till no one thinks, our souls are links to supernovas. its like molded fissure til' i'm on the sink, eyes are swole up, holding hands while in coma. Whole existence tied to joker, who would think this guys a poser?, so he lies and thinks to iron stitch. He ties his holes up. Deprived of things, lifes a cold stud.

Brilliant section. Everything connected here perfectly. The enjambment mixed well with the abrupt stops, making this ready very fluidly despite the rhyme overload. And there were some really deep and wonderfully worded phrases here, "we coexist till no one thinks, our souls are links to supernovas" stood out. I liked the Resident Evil play, too, as it was subtle enough not to feel like the previous section.

Tries to sing, but writhes and stings. Oh why just me? I want a life of closure, have some kids, ride and drink, smile and wink,playin 'first to blink' with the cobra.

You may have went a little too long on this rhyme, though I liked that last bit.

It's miles til it's mild again. He's had it, he tells everybody it was a 'accident' for the evident chip on his shoulder, but what can he do except try and be lucid, cause you rather them think nothings there, than for them to lie and see through it

Great finish. It seemed like most of this verse offered some commentary on your role here or your place in your writing circles, at the least. It wasn't your best work, entirely, because of a few sections where I thought you went slightly astray. But it was well-focused comparatively, and you had some memorable sections.

[big baby]

@Certain y do u htae me just tell me its ok i wont ge tmad this time

[NYCSPITZ]

Actually pretty good. Some awkward wording like ponder ordeal. I came in here looking to hate but can't do it to a solid verse. Good job

[NYCSPITZ]

I bet u never did coke but its still good. Now elevate

[big baby]

Originally Posted by NYCSPITZ

Actually pretty good. Some awkward wording like ponder ordeal. I came in here looking to hate but can't do it to a solid verse. Good job

tldr