Author Information
île d'Oléron
She was a sharp instrument,
that pierced
me.
Her razor cut was so sharp,
that
I never felt it.
I only noticed, that I was
bleeding
out
uncontrollably
When it was too late.
~/~
She was a sharp instrument,
that pierced
me.
Her razor cut was so sharp,
that
I never felt it.
I only noticed, that I was
bleeding
out
uncontrollably
When it was too late.
~/~
Like a brilliantly
Like a brilliantly orchestrated jump scare, your metaphor seized me with its realness, and like all phenomenal poetry, it immersed me. Consumed me, actually. Amazing how you can be extravagantly emotive but delicately athletic with words. A brutal ballet of emotion and talent. Respect!
You always manage to put a smile on my face
As always, lovely to have you decorate my page. You always manage to put a smile on my face. Cheers.
When I read this, my first
When I read this, my first response was that I had dated someone just like your description in college; and then my second response, considering the poem as a poem, is that you have described a powerfully cataclysmic experience in such a few brief lines---which attests to your tremendous verbal skill and artistry. I think of a certain novelist who churns out endless pages of horror stories, without knowing when to stop or what to edit; and then I compared this poem, which achieves a supreme effect of horror with a handful of words in a few slender, but very agile, lines.
J-Called
Always an error of judgment
I think we all encounter someone like this in the course of relationships. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. It’s how we figure out not to repeat the mistake, that’s of great importance. And a mistake of this kind, is always an error of judgment.