That phrase makes me shiver
Makes some solemn silent (?) resounding
Sends me flailing: **** **** **** (word choice is dodgy)
Overall, I’m somewhat confused and disappointed by your work. Please reconsider your ******* of the English language.
The critic becomes a part of the work. Twice.
The cigarette was trailing down my throat like a ten-inch tapeworm
It was grounded, the bright look she gave.
I projected my disgust onto the rain.
This was my one shot to make a garden.
I've never had a cigarette. Read the tags.
I can hear negative
It is calming, like divine forces
Leaving ripples on the surface of the real.
This was my best effort at recreating the experience of a haiku in English. I hate writing these descriptions.
“Be not like me, I am alone.”
Do I alone see myself in you?
I had really immersed myself in the postmodern classic House of Leaves a good while back, and during that phase I felt the burning need to express myself in this way, fully, with no regard for style or audience. And I think I did well.
Someday I’ll tear apart into a million billion pieces and you’ll watch them float in the autumn winds; borne aloft, alive in spite of approaching dawn. Maybe you’ll take a piece. I’ll whisper, “It’ll be alright,” only my voice won’t reach you. And then I’ll smile because it will.
One of my first pieces. I was feeling sentimental.
— The End —