Unlike Black Flame, I do peep this forum quite often. So often in fact that I have a refigerator over there full of left over food, and a spare matress over there that I often sleep on when I'm sleeping on threads.

It's like... like y'know... like... cold. Like shivering cold. Like warm, but warmth of tension. Hot, but not passion, anger. Mild, drenched in sorrow. Soaked in sin, pity. Pity of sin. City of sin? I'm going to stop babbling on now cause I'm not making sense.

This was one of those poems in which the reader looks not necesserially at what the author is doing but rather taking note what the author isn't doing. What the author isn't writing, it's important to. Know what I'm saying? I hope so, cause it's hard to explain. I mean, it's like you wrote everything. And by everything I mean you wrote the word everything. And you wrote every time. But everything and every time can lead to a multitude of possibilitys that you narrowed down to specific feelings and into specific emotions.

~
For every time I don't want to, every time I do anyway,
every time I reach out, every time you push my hand away.
For every time I was faithful, every time you still suspected.
Every time I cried, left alone, left neglected.
~

That part really caught my eye at first. Not wanting to do something but doing it anyway is an odd juxtoposition of a relationship. Sometimes it's good, like, I don't want to, but I'll bail you out of prison anyway. Sometimes it's bad, real bad. Like, I don't want to, but I'll suck on your toes anyway. (Especially since all but my own feet make my tummy feel funny.) I could quite honestly write my own interpetation of this poem, and write a long in depth personification of each line. But then that would make you paying attention to what I am doing, rather than taking note to what I am not doing. What I'm not writing, it's important too. Know what I'm saying?

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Quote:

Originally posted by Bruklor Nec is just dumb

I'm taking that as a compliment.