There are Days

[amuse]

and i am afraid
i'm very afraid
of taking a deep breath

and drawing
a knife
wrenching
it
into my
heart

and finding - too late -
only empty space

small flecks
of what may have
been blood

tiny shards
of what could have
been life

there are
days, Dorothy,

when i
am jealous
of the Tin Man.

[white camellia]

there are
days, amuse,

when Tin Man
is jealous
of You.

[blp]

Good, especially the end. After the initial good impression, though, funny sense issues start to niggle. First you're saying you're scared of finding nothing in your chest, then you're jealous of the tin man - who had nothing in his. And other than that, well what else would those flecks have been? You've just stuck a knife in your chest. I really tripped hard over that. I'm not being too pedantic am I? All this seems like it should be easy to fix without losing a thing.

[amuse]

no, not too pedantic at all. :shakes head:

mm
it was just a sense of his lack of a heart, and his yearning for one, as being somehow more [whole] than my existing one is. like his nothingness was at least zero, whereas i felt as if mine were somehow at the negative end of the spectrum...if that makes sense...

and at least he'd get a heart; i on the other hand, had one, and should have an ability to feel, and oftentime, frequently, nothing...just a shark-like sensation, or very analytical, calculating - there was hope for the Tin Man.

[Avalive]

Very .... I liked it

[brandon w]

This poem is forced. It sounds just like everything I seen befor. I see no character in it, where is the you?

[amuse]

i'm in there; perhaps you'd find me forced? :D