Hurry up, comrade.

[Underwater Ophelia]

The guy driving
Knows the guy dying
He's making wide turns
Taking his time
While we're lollygagging clumsy on the floor

You wouldn't take off your belt buckle
I'm all inky where it ground in
Oh come on--
He's not even turning his lights on!

But I saw it myself
I saw that red stuff leaking out sticky
In the heat of the sun
Crawling so painstakingly completely and
Memorizing every fingerprint in the asphalt
As it stagnated
A girl wondered what it would taste like
With all those little bits of glass
Like coloured sugar on a cupcake

[HumanePain]

I love the contrasts between broken bloody glass and cupcake sugar! It reminds me of Charles Baudelaire's A Carcass .

"My love, do you recall the object which we saw,
That fair, sweet, summer morn!
At a turn in the path a foul carcass
On a gravel strewn bed,

Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman,
Burning and dripping with poisons,
Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way
Its belly, swollen with gases.

The sun shone down upon that putrescence,
As if to roast it to a turn,
And to give back a hundredfold to great Nature
The elements she had combined;

And the sky was watching that superb cadaver
Blossom like a flower.
So frightful was the stench that you believed
You'd faint away upon the grass.

The blow-flies were buzzing round that putrid belly,
From which came forth black battalions
Of maggots, which oozed out like a heavy liquid
All along those living tatters.

All this was descending and rising like a wave,
Or poured out with a crackling sound;
One would have said the body, swollen with a vague breath,
Lived by multiplication.

And this world gave forth singular music,
Like running water or the wind,
Or the grain that winnowers with a rhythmic motion
Shake in their winnowing baskets.

The forms disappeared and were no more than a dream,
A sketch that slowly falls
Upon the forgotten canvas, that the artist
Completes from memory alone.

Crouched behind the boulders, an anxious dog
Watched us with angry eye,
Waiting for the moment to take back from the carcass
The morsel he had left.

— And yet you will be like this corruption,
Like this horrible infection,
Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being,
You, my angel and my passion!

Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces,
After the last sacraments,
When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers,
To molder among the bones of the dead.

Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who will
Devour you with kisses,
That I have kept the form and the divine essence
Of my decomposed love!"

(Translated by William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil)

[Underwater Ophelia]

Baudelaire is one of my favorite poets.

[Underwater Ophelia]

I can't decide if I want to mash these together or make a short collection including these both. Either way, think of this as a prequel.

My perfect lips are getting cold
While yours are looking like a bruise
You put your hand in my hair
And I couldn't say no to you

Against my better judgement,
I did kiss you
Just like I thought would happen,
You put one grain of sand between my teeth
For each reason why I should have
Just kept laughing

[Underwater Ophelia]

Can you bastards say anything?

Even if you say "it sucks ass," can't you say something?

[PortraitOfSanity]

I'm really not a big poetry guy, so my opinion means nothing really, but I like it.

[Underwater Ophelia]

Well, what do you like about it?

[Corpsey]

I'm getting a vivid image that this is representing the scene of a crash or something similar, and it's not a suck ass poem.

I like some of the wordplays and several of the words used, but the rhythm of it all doesn't seem terribly cohesive. Maybe try writing out each line with a set limit of syllables.

[Underwater Ophelia]

Yeah, definitely deliberate car crash imagery.
I got the idea for some of the lines while driving past a nasty and disgusting scene on the highway.

[Nexiah]

The implications of the phrases used in this poem, ie: "You wouldn't take off your belt buckle I'm all inky where it ground in", leaves a lasting and disturbing effect in my opinion, mainly because its not graphic but refers to the nasty stomach wound of being severed by a belt buckle in an accident in a vague, yet specific manner (if that makes any sense). Yeah, its pretty cool, and the last line is definitely the icing on the cupcake.

[Corpsey]

Woah. Chunky Monkey.

By the way, have you ever written any feminist poetry? I can't recall seeing any from you but I'd like to see some if you have written any.

[Nexiah]

Haha, yes I do write in chunkiness...only way I know how to be honest (I blame my university brainwashing).

Actually, I haven't written any feminist poetry, perhaps you are getting me confused with a similarly named gnettian, and yes, perhaps I will post some of my scrawlings up here, even though I know it will get shot down in its ineptness...but hey, that's an unspoken agreement when one signs up to comment here hey?

[Underwater Ophelia]

Originally Posted by Corpsey

Woah. Chunky Monkey.

By the way, have you ever written any feminist poetry? I can't recall seeing any from you but I'd like to see some if you have written any.

If you're asking me, then no, I've never written any feminist poetry.