DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

How my head feels

Member since 2002 · Posted 12 Jun 2002 · 3 comments

someone is making a cast of my brain. I can feel them pour the plaster in my thinking slows as my head is weighed down and then it stops while I sleep they take the cast away and pack it in a dusty hall with all the other casts they've made one for every overlong day

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10 votes so far. Yours would make 11.10 votes so far

3 comments

[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. 16-Jun-02/5:35 PM Reply

Don't you think "and then it stops" slows down the flow of the poem somewhat? I think what you're looking for is a sort of counter-rhythm, but frankly it fails. You fail.

[3] -=SeTTle=- 10-Jul-02/9:17 PM Reply

Nobody cares about your brain. I can't relate to this feeling personally. Thus, shit.

[4] horus8 28-Aug-02/11:41 PM Reply

you suck. sorry. my femur's bigger than yours, and my plaster of paris is from paris. nah....(tongue out lol!) vibrate.dagger.iree.hemp. 4