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Literature Text
I Can't Devour You, Not Yet:
I long to taste the sweetness of your flesh,
To roll your meat between my tongue and teeth.
So many times have I come - so close -
To taking that first bite from your neck.
Yet, there is something about you,
A scent perhaps or a sickly sap.
It turns bitter upon my tongue,
Poisoning it; I am left unable to eat...
Much like the caterpillar, covered in spines,
Each bite would spew only bitter venom -
Numbing my senses and dulling the mind;
It would leave me naught but a gormless wreck!
Even so, despite me knowing of the repugnant taste,
I am drawn toward you, like a moth to the flame.
May my wings crumble in the heart of the fire -
& body be turned to dust and ash...
Ah, my dear - I will have you.
& on that day it will be so sweet.
But for now - I'm afraid that -
I must leave this as a mere - tantalizing - fantasy...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 12th December 2012
I long to taste the sweetness of your flesh,
To roll your meat between my tongue and teeth.
So many times have I come - so close -
To taking that first bite from your neck.
Yet, there is something about you,
A scent perhaps or a sickly sap.
It turns bitter upon my tongue,
Poisoning it; I am left unable to eat...
Much like the caterpillar, covered in spines,
Each bite would spew only bitter venom -
Numbing my senses and dulling the mind;
It would leave me naught but a gormless wreck!
Even so, despite me knowing of the repugnant taste,
I am drawn toward you, like a moth to the flame.
May my wings crumble in the heart of the fire -
& body be turned to dust and ash...
If only for the chance to feast once more!
Ah, my dear - I will have you.
& on that day it will be so sweet.
But for now - I'm afraid that -
I must leave this as a mere - tantalizing - fantasy...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 12th December 2012
Literature
Suicidal
Blood flows from our wrists,
Making our hands turn into fists.
We only feel the pain and sorrow,
Have we given up hope for a better tomorrow?
The rope is hanging from the ceiling,
Helping us end that miserable feeling.
The pills are scattered across the floor,
Maybe we need to swallow just one more?
Others might refuse to see the cruelty of life,
While others try to end it by the knife.
Trying to get out of this cruel dream,
Sometimes all we can do is scream.
There are others like you out there,
You might not yet know where.
But they try to overcome it,
That's something not all will admit.
Every one of us needs a helping hand,
Literature
Sinking
Recently I've been sinking
Like a stone into a pond
Having skimmed across the surface
Of life for far too long
Please may I have a new heart
Along with a new mind
I cannot reverse this feeling
No, I'm sorry, not this time
Recently I've been sinking
Into myself like quicksand
No one sees as it swallows me
Each grain a mislaid plan
Please may I crawl inside your love
Mingle hearts until the end
I cannot reverse this feeling
No, I'm sorry, not again
Recently I've been sinking
Such an overused metaphor
But one which is cathartic
When choosing to explore
That I could save you my love
And in time you could save me
As fear and
Literature
Open Heart Surgery
I've got ink throbbing through fissured veins,
poisoning every atom of my soul.
"Bite your tongue," they say.
How I'd love to chew the damn thing off
and suck down every filthy syllable
just like the rotten bone marrow it is.
They'd all watch as my body spontaneously combusts
and becomes nothing but convoluted karma.
And so I wrote,
"Dear poetry,
Teach me the ways of ripping out a human heart,
and stitching it onto ink-stained parchment."
The answer that came was rasped from a cauterized throat:
"Read your future in the collapsed palm of the stars;
find the abandoned pulse of your lionhearted muse;
steal their conformed scalpel and mak
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Episode 5: [link]
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Author's Comment:
Arrr lads and lasses,
What do ye think of this poem? The backstory to it is quite interesting you see, because in order to keep up my massive amount of releases (without sufferin' writers block) I frequently have t' experiment with and DEVOUR new styles of writin'.
However, I can't adapt every single style inta me works and that sometimes leaves me feelin' very hungry...but without any sort o' reprieve.
In essence, I always attempt to dissect the style of other poets and then try t' apply it to me own works so that I can improve my writing by making it a stronger hybrid of many different styles. Poe's punctuation style, a little bit of darkness from me own soul, that kind of thing is how I write what I do.
'Owever, sometimes ye meet a poet whose style is so unique -or perhaps so opposite to yer own that - no matter how much you try you cannot stomach their style. It turns vile on your tongue and leaves ye spittin' it right back out. These types of poets are me greatest challenge and I will try time and time again t' consume their talents...but sadly it does take awhile before I can digest it completely.
Now then...who should I make me next meal eh? Any recommended...sacrifices?
-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates
Other Poems by Me:
Other Literature by Me:
If you'd like to hear me do some live comedy, answer questions and read poems LIVE then check out the latest two episodes of my show:
Episode 5: [link]
Episode 6: [link]
Author's Comment:
Arrr lads and lasses,
What do ye think of this poem? The backstory to it is quite interesting you see, because in order to keep up my massive amount of releases (without sufferin' writers block) I frequently have t' experiment with and DEVOUR new styles of writin'.
However, I can't adapt every single style inta me works and that sometimes leaves me feelin' very hungry...but without any sort o' reprieve.
In essence, I always attempt to dissect the style of other poets and then try t' apply it to me own works so that I can improve my writing by making it a stronger hybrid of many different styles. Poe's punctuation style, a little bit of darkness from me own soul, that kind of thing is how I write what I do.
'Owever, sometimes ye meet a poet whose style is so unique -or perhaps so opposite to yer own that - no matter how much you try you cannot stomach their style. It turns vile on your tongue and leaves ye spittin' it right back out. These types of poets are me greatest challenge and I will try time and time again t' consume their talents...but sadly it does take awhile before I can digest it completely.
Now then...who should I make me next meal eh? Any recommended...sacrifices?
-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates
Other Poems by Me:
It Came From The DarkIt Came From The Dark:
Amongst the ashes, swirling from the darkness of the pit,
Emerged a hand, dragging a battered body across the rocks.
Blood leaked from the wounds so callously self-inflicted,
And teeth ground with a focused determination and seething anger.
It cared not for the warm rubies - staining the jagged rocks,
It cared not for the sensation of pain...
All that it remembered was a dream, An obsession -
One that drove it ever higher; ignoring all else!
Eventually it emerged from this shadowy hole, this dreary depth,
And in that moment, it learned of the truth.
For this creature, denied sunlight and warmth -
was me...
Alone but AliveAlone but Alive:
Oh here I am standing,
A lost soul is landing.
The coldest December,
Can you still remember?
Do you even hear me?
There's no one around me!
Oh shadow that I see,
The void right behind me.
Yet still I am breathing;
Yet still I am feeling.
The coldest sensation,
Oh worthless creation!
Are you still crying?
Oh why are you lying - abandoned and cold
-
Cold like what was left of soul,
Made of all the life you stole.
Walk divine but made of sin,
Worm of hatred squrim within.
Sin of lust and sin of pride,
Lash the tongue that last has lied.
Yours was silver with a promise,
Kiss of death and then you vomit.
Bu
You Have No Right To LiveYou Have No Right To Live:
Hey, what are you doing?
That's mine, now give it back.
You're stupid, you should just go die!
Okay, I'm sorry...
What, you failed again?
Just how much money do you think we're spending on this,
Do you think it just falls from the sky?
I can't believe you; and don't give me that look!
You better straighten up now you hear me
And if you keep looking like a dead fish,
I'm going to make you wish you were one.
I'm sorry...
Hey, being around you is driving me nuts,
You never want to do anything, you don't even care,
Why bother even breathing if you're going to act like you're dead!
I'm sorry!
You're
Pat
Other Literature by Me:
The Good Critic's GuideThe Good Critic's Guide:
'
I. Introduction:
I have noticed that many critics on DA tend to leave rather harsh and sometimes subjective critiques on the pages of the artists being critiqued. Their rationale for doing so is based on the concept that 'we shouldn't molly-coddle each other and instead "tell it like it is"'. However this type of critique reflects poorly on one who is critiquing as opposed to the one who is being critiqued and I will explain why throughout the course of this guide. In essence I hope to use this resource as a way of teaching potential critics how to properly focus their abilities and direct their critiques in a
Mercenary 1-1MERCENARY
Chapter 1: Blood is Beauty
Release One: Pages 1 - 3
THE COLD AIR in Baron Rorke's study did little to calm his nerves. He was expecting visitors this night and they were not the best of company. A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he spent most of the twilight hours staring out of a large window which stood behind his writing desk. It was amazing, he felt, how quickly a man could become attached to a life of luxury; only to be made painfully aware of how easy it was to lose it. War was always a frightening thing, even more so when one had the knowledge and sense to realise that it was no longer an exercise of glory, but a si
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Comments157
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Overall
Vision
Originality
Technique
Impact
Meh. Hopefully this is one of your warm-up poems. Yes, I do understand the backstory may be interesting, but...
Vision: The backstory is not EXACT to us, but the poem does ooze the general idea behind it. Maybe it's just personal preference, but I would rather see a poem that is more symbolic, and one that invokes more thinking. The analogy is kinda cheesy, too.
Originality: It seems like a poem you might see a dying character in a paranormal romance say. (No, I'm not thinking of vampires or something!) The thing that I appreciate about the originality is how you step back, and add that little commentary at the end.
Technique: It was okay. I'm not a - lover - of - using - hyphens. Many times, it seems as if your train of thought was interrupted, even in midsentence.
Impact: Am I likely to forget this poem? Yeah. I think that it is just... shall we... 2-dimensional? It almost sounds like you're just talking to the reader. That MAY be the intended effect, but if that was the case, there should be a way to wrench the heart of the audience, and make us feel something. (Textbook reading, anyone?)
Nonetheless, I enjoy an author that writes dark things, and as a result, I will sit back in my chair, and wait for another poem by you to surpass this one.