Hi, everyone. My poetry never has titles, unless it's published, and I have to invent one for it.
Anyway. This is my most recent work, and I'd like to receive some feedback, please.
Thank you.

At noon I am no one,
The decline of life,
The fifth circle of hell,
The filth in the sky.
I wring water
From my heart of flint.
My lone form rots,
As I try to tear apart
The magic and the runes.
I have given up burping in churches -
It used to be fun,
But now, when the muse is gone,
It only screeches in my soul's carcass.
I'd rather climb up a tree
And look at you
From behind a tinted glass.
Your ant hill is wonderful
And highly inflammable.
CarnivorouS CarnivorouS
4 Responses Nov 6, 2011

Manyhills pretty much stole the words from my mouth. XD<br />
What she said, lol.

<br />
Unacceptable. Kindly resume immediately.

Good point here :D

Your words are like a paint brush, each ex<x>pression reveals a greater detail of your loneliness and conflict on a colorful canvas. Great work!

Thank you for your kind appreciation.,.

Wonderful CarnivorouS, wonderful imaginary, as it always is in your work, well done!

Thanks, mate!