All your poemes are about love. Why are so many poemes about love? Do people write poemes about their other obsessive-compulsive disorders? No. Well, they should. It would be good.

Daring! Original! Creative!

I concur with poetandknowit, except for the first part.

Daring. Innovative. Cutting edge.

Oh my god! How could I have ever of doubted you! This is superb. Genius. As horus8 says: Brave. Just brave. I am humbled here on a Sunday night watching snow fall outside my window. Grim one and Grim two would dare call this: provocative, cunning, heart felt. You will go far in your writing career. I now have no doubt. Congratulations, Mr Ranger. You win!!!

And clowns aren't fucking scary. Skellingtons are.

Forced does sound the fifth line.

You snuck in a flask tonight didn't you.

I know you probably want this a tad abstract, but I think if you were a bit more in touch with the setting and created more specific images it would be more powerful overall. Not that this isn't a decent effort. There are some nice ideas behind the words but I think you could try to strengthen your metaphor. You did a nice job extending it, but if you threw some more specifics in for clarity, I think you would have a good piece. I was just waiting the whole poem to get that tingling in my lower back and it just never materialized. Damn.

Do you ever lie awake at night and wonder aloud to god why he gave me such great talent and you so little? Do you ever wonder about that just before you go to sleep, when you can feel yourself start to drift and are still conscious enough to make the choice of whether to give in to the drift or fight? Like a preview of dying. Is that what you mean here. Is it raining in Liverpool today?

No sweetie, not a ladder, a resume. Thanks for the poem. See you soon. Stay out of trouble.

Have they named those microcosmed minature snow towns in the shake up see through glass globes yet?

>insert comment here<

Get the fuck out of here. GET OUT OF MY FUCKING CAB.

What the fuck is this? HUH? COOK PASS BABTRIDGE

1. "Savior" is spelled "savior", not "savoir". "Savoir" is the French verb to know. 2. Jesu is the Savior. He never fell. 3. The second, third and fourth verses are complete nonsense. They don't make any sense. They're just random bits of angst that rhyme. Your heart doesn't beat on your spine. That doesn't even make sense as a metaphor. 4. It's perfectly possible to be able to help others but not help oneself. Indeede, one might argue that the idea of helping oneself is buncombe. One does not help oneself to go to the gentleman's chamber. One merely goes. I think you have become confused because of phrases like "Help yourself to some fucking pie." A similar principle applies to being a savior without being a self-savior. This is a truly bad poeme. The only good part is the hilarious pun in the title. By 'hilarious' I mean 'skdhfajlsdfhlkasjhf'.

How delightfully topical!!!

And then what happened?

Good thing you wrote this in high school. Of course, your writing hasn't changed all that much, eh? Good try!!

Provocative! Sexy! Intrepid!