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Array ( [sid] => 93737 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Dying Orchestra. (8 1/2 [time] => 2005-05-08 21:31:59 [hometext] => please read and critique... [bodytext] => The broken melodies
Smash within her mind
The shards of reflection
Reveal all her lies.
The lies that she lied
into truth
for herself.
She lives this nightmare for
no one else.

Her mirror screams
All she's feared to be true
She stands without tears;
All this in lieu
Of the orchestra screaming
broken melodies (life)
into the remnants of
the empty mind.

Torn clothes form
the landscape of the floor;
The white furrows of ribs
Leer at her in the last reflection.
Rage builds
inside its tiny host,

Which becomes a whirlwind
of bones (far sharp)
and flesh (too dull)
and tangled hair, always, always in the way,
and bulging eyes, too big for their sockets,
and the blood seeps slowly
and the tears drip slowly,
and the scream of the forever frustrated
Reverberates throughout the house.

And thin personalities
with perfect features
drip from the pages of
her angry, shredded magazines,
and the glass of the mirror
is crushed with a furor
As she simply stands and stares.

Maybe it's Maybelline. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 65 [informant] => _myonlyone_ [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => toughstuff )

The Dying Orchestra. (8 12

Contributed by _myonlyone_ on Sunday, 8th May 2005 @ 09:31:59 PM in AEST
Topic: toughstuff

The broken melodies
Smash within her mind
The shards of reflection
Reveal all her lies.
The lies that she lied
into truth
for herself.
She lives this nightmare for
no one else.

Her mirror screams
All she's feared to be true
She stands without tears;
All this in lieu
Of the orchestra screaming
broken melodies (life)
into the remnants of
the empty mind.

Torn clothes form
the landscape of the floor;
The white furrows of ribs
Leer at her in the last reflection.
Rage builds
inside its tiny host,

Which becomes a whirlwind
of bones (far sharp)
and flesh (too dull)
and tangled hair, always, always in the way,
and bulging eyes, too big for their sockets,
and the blood seeps slowly
and the tears drip slowly,
and the scream of the forever frustrated
Reverberates throughout the house.

And thin personalities
with perfect features
drip from the pages of
her angry, shredded magazines,
and the glass of the mirror
is crushed with a furor
As she simply stands and stares.

Maybe it's Maybelline.

Copyright © _myonlyone_ ... [ 2005-05-08 21:31:59]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: The Dying Orchestra. (8 12 (User Rating: 1 )
by Petznick on Sunday, 8th May 2005 @ 11:16:05 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

at first i thought this poem was heading in a few directions. but i read it again and realized that was probably due to the fact that it's 12:15am. second time through the message was loud and clear with many insightful images and a strong closing line. really nice work
LATES
Jason Petznick

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