Feel free to provide any type of criticism you like.
Here’s some poetry I posted off the cuff in chat:
Locks now useless, leaking with stress
you swear in rage, screaming at every stage.
Puzzles that are just pathetic collections of but-thou-must
Locks demanding impossible keys, leaving you to lurch in the breeze.
Also here’s
topics: surreal nonsense, mention of injury
Languid morning slips down the long throat of evening luxury.
Coming undone, bit by unfortunate bit—forwards to deep damnation
As a dream floats freely to mind—down she looks; the scar's on her thigh,
She sigh s—scene floats out, a signless phantasm bearing no story.
Off topic discussion that's gotten longer than the entire rest of the post
PS: Is there anyway to get Discourse not to word-wrap stuff without code blocks? Using<pre>tags are the best solution I’ve found since that doesn’t ruin
italic or bold
text styles, but is there anything better? Apparently this doesn’t allow horizontal scrolling, which sort of defeats the point. sigh Back to code blocks with horrible formatting workarounds for me.
ETA: Actually using <pre><code> works to get scrollable boxes with italic/bold formatting
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Hurrah.
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Some untitled scraps of poetry I have in stock (yes, the ‘sweat’ in the first line of the first one is intentional)
CW: murder
Sweat sweet sweet wine
Runs down her chin.
She pulls the napkin to her lips
And dabs a spot
Of red. She damns it. Her eyes
Linger-lollygag scarlet tones
White cotton stare. She puts it down.
Teeth-salt; grit grit grit.
Concierge run run run.
Breath is out of stock,
Face is out of sorts.
He smiles, sweats
Roman pleasantries.
A knife. Her ribs. Well-driven.
A mouth forms an o.
Then silence.
Uniform uniform. Take off kit,
Put in locker, go home.
Letter from the widower.
Nice new traveler's cheques inside.
All in a day's work.
CW: futuristic war
Sky-scars cross the
Blue sun-blood as
Metal-oxen burn and
Scream with push-flame.
Vagrant-eyes pass across the metal-flesh
Of the detonator-depositors roaming near the people-herds
As knife-wolves wander near the goat-heaps.
People-dust to grave-dust, joy-ash to grief-ash.
Nothing creative here, here creative—
Honestly, I generally like to write poetry that tells strange and unsettling narratives.
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