Aneurysm

This is what comes of trying to write something different. I'm not trying to be grandly poetic, I'm just trying something new, and I think I like it.


My name is Tabby Sinclair. Maybe that's my name, or
maybe it's just who I've chosen to be today. Okay, I
lied. My name is really Tabby Sinclair. I'm a faulty
ragdoll torn at the seams; a poisonous Aphrodite with

black lips. I think I'm sick. There's nothing but venom
beneath my cheeks, and you'll wither and die if you
come anywhere near them. Aneurysm. Cyanosis. Paranoia.
You really must think I'm ill now I've said all this,

I'm so sorry, don't leave. He never leaves me when I
start talking. I cry on his shoulder when I've had
a bad day; helps me to quiet down. He calls it bipolar
depression. Everyone else just tells me I'm mad. His

patchwork skin is as bold as measles; soft as velvet,
and the fires of his Celtic soul burn vibrant hues of
violet skies and oceans blue. Every night before I go
to bed he strokes my hair, and fights to heal the cracks

that the day has left spiralling through my soul like
seaside candy. He took me to the beach last year and I
still have all the photos pinned to the wall opposite
my pillow. But you don't care about any of that,

it doesn't interest you, doesn't interest you at all.
My heart was stillborn, but every so often it gives
a harsh kick of electric toxicity to the nearest victim.
Run, before you become infected, I think I'm contagious.

Wow, that was definitely different. And I think I like it too.

I like how it goes from practically normal conversation to oddly poetic and switches off. It's pretty unique in that way, I'd think.

*squeezes you* Thank you.

Holy crap.

Dude that was like...Sylvia Plath good.

No...

better. o_o

The first couple of stanzas, you really set the idea of 'insanity' (or sanity as I like to call it ) with your sentence structure and the whole repeatition. I also love the way you put it across, more erm...tangible than some poetry.

Yeah...but seriously this is amazing.

Really? I wasn't too sure whether it would work. Everytime I wrote a line it sounded banal and cliched, and rewrote it until it sounded like something okay.

I absolutely adore it when people write something that defies the genre of both poetry and story, and you did it (and I can name Tessa and Sylvia Plath as the two other people I've ever seen do that

so big thumbs up to you for not screwing up
the only time anything can become great is if it is new, and you did something completely new, but really good

Ginger Nuts:

Really? I wasn't too sure whether it would work. Everytime I wrote a line it sounded banal and cliched, and rewrote it until it sounded like something okay.

No no, I am being honest. It's very vivid.

Everyone else just tells me I'm mad. His

patchwork skin is as bold as measles; soft as velvet,
and the fires of his Celtic soul burn vibrant hues of
violet skies and oceans blue.

Those lines are pure, perfect poetry.

spill_no_sick:

I absolutely adore it when people write something that defies the genre of both poetry and story, and you did it (and I can name Tessa and Sylvia Plath as the two other people I've ever seen do that

so big thumbs up to you for not screwing up
the only time anything can become great is if it is new, and you did something completely new, but really good

I’m pretty fond of that too ^_^

This poem is very different from the ones you usually write, and it’s also very different to any of the poetry on this site. That’s a good thing by the way.

I find it hard to pinpoint exactly why I liked it but I think it was because of the structure and the theme. I loved the somewhat twisted imagery as well. That was what made the poem come to life (and become a poem pretty much). This wouldn’t have worked without the strange, but brilliant, metaphors. One thing I really liked was the way the poem switched from sort of monologue/conversation to description/story. I thought that was rather fascinating.

Marvellous, dear

Thank you everyone, it means so much to know that I'm progressing.