This is a poem I think a lot can relate to...lots of us are unsure of our thoughts at one point in our lives...this one I liked too...

This is a good poem, I really did like it it's a sad poem...because the last line tells us that the person is gone....a lot more could be added to the poem emotionally if you worked on this one....but it is still very good....( I hope you didn' t mind me giving advise, not the best at it...)

You are a colossal pair of Michael Winner's unwashed pants.

There once was some AIDS in a Jug, Which had held a bottle of Krug, It transpired the drink, Was poured down the sink, To be replaced by the semen of your friend, Doug.

Shuper

I REALLY LIKES THIS 1 EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS HEARTFELT AND SOULFILLED

I LIKE THE FLOW BUT I DONT NO WHAT U MEAN?

I REALLY ENJOID READING THIS PEICE ITS VERY DARK MYSTERIOUS

I really like that one. Can't explain why....just do :)

oy. ready? set? crit: She washed over me like water, >>k—washed over me doesn’t need to be qualified with ‘like water’—>>economize your words for greater effect. and I knew love like love had never known; >>abstract she wriggled into every crevice, licked me clean, then left-- >>okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Was it a salty tongue, like >>sharkskin, so smooth on the approach yet tearing and scraping >>like sandpaper as it pulled away? but she came back, caressed me down, deeper still. >>and what did that feel like? She went and came like some sick little game >>yep. Yep. Very clear to me. and I was stone, alone and uncertain; >> I have a hard time with stones being uncertain. They don’t roll. >>They know where they’ll wake up tomorrow. They know what they are >>going to wear tonight. And they definitely know if they look fat >>in that. her visitations slowly eroded my hesitation and I became used to her comings and goings. >>tides? To repeat the water/comparison to elementals metaphor? We settled into a long routine, then: love when she was there >>delete “then” and happy rememberings on her trips away. >>both of you settled into this >both of you with the happy rememberings? Slowly, though, she found my deep imperfections and seeping into them she'd leave a piece of herself behind to whip cold and hot. >>finding and seeping cold maybe be better verbs? More insidious? She'd tell herself tales when she returned and slowly I cracked, I crumbled, >>what sort of tales? About what? Why? And how did it come >>about that you heard them? and she'd whisk those pieces away, rounding them to pebbles, then sand while I remained less and less. >>again, delete “then” The strength of her love never waned and in time it became too much for what was left of me, one raw stone, and I let go. >>you never showed us that she loved you, only that she tortures you I entered her to and fro, another pawn of her whimsy to slowly be rounded to nothing through pleasure. >>apart from ‘pawn’ being overused, the rounding to nothing slowly through pleasure is quite good.

This is without a doubt the most blatant case of idiotic self-voting I have yet seen. As a poem, this fails for a simple reason: if you start off with a rhyming quatrain, you should not round it off with three unrhyming verses even more lacking in rhythmic distinction than the first four.

Is this Bachus?Sounds like him.