Hit me with criticisms / praises. Thank you.
-The reason why there were so many grammatical errors is because I was typing this on my phone, in bed.
--1st Revision
And a nice young man sits on a dock.
The smell of sea salt ruffles the air.
Each grain of humidity is bound to the pores of his newly shaven beard.
But what is a man without a purpose?
A girl in a long grey sweater.
She haunts his sight and subsequently he forgets about the seasons, the sun, and the weather.
She stops and gives a brief smile- it's just them now.
There is a blank whiteness behind her. It is nothing.
When he sees her time stops. There is no peripheral.
When she sees him there's still the stars, the sun, the fish, and everything else a woman can see.
He knows this and everyday haunts himself with screams of 'why, why not just me?'
He stayed up for 4 nights trying to answer a vague question he'd thought of.
And no matter how much time he poured into pondering
the question remained unsolved and kept on bothering-
Him.
Again and again and again.
And now he wasn't just awake, but he was slamming his head on the bunk of his bed.
She lays in a cot and counts the stars.
Thinking of other boys she'd met on bars.
She hadn't a burden in the world, all her needs fulfilled by him and the freedom to give love to them.
She was quite content with the way things were.
She had the beauty, a taste, and the wits.
While he sat at home and slit his wrists.
After the blood, the pain, and the toll he decides to give.
He lays on the tracks with no will to live.
She cries for days and nights, countless to man.
Wonders what would drive him to that.
'He'd just wanted to die' she figures, and settles the answer in over some sleep.
It fits well in her mind and the puzzles complete.
So is my story.
--Original
And nice young man sits on a dock. The smell of sea salt ruffles the ajr. Each grain of humidity is bound to the pores of his newly shaven beard. But what is a man without a purpose. A girl in a long grey sweater. She haunts his sight and subsequently he forgets about the seasons, the sun, and the weather. She stops and gives a brief smile; it's just them now. There is a blank whiteness behind her. It is nothing. When he sees her time stops. There is no peripheral. When she sees him there's still the stars, the sun, the fish, and everything else a woman can see. He knows this and everyday haunts himself with screams of 'why, why not just me?' He stayed up for 4 nights trying to answer a vague question he'd thought of. And no matter how much time he poured into pondering the question remained unsolved and kept on bothering-
Him.
Again and again and again.
And now he wasn't just awake but he was slamming his head on the bunk of his bed. She lays in a cot and counts the stars. Thinking of other boys she'd met on bars. She hadn't a burden in the world, all her needs fulfilled by him and the freedom to give love to them. She was quite content with the way things were. She had the beauty, a taste, and the wits. While he sat at home and slit his wrists. After the blood, the pain, and the toll he decides to give. He lays on the tracks with no will to live. She cries for days and nights, countless to man. Wonders what would drive him to that. He'd just wanted to die, she figures and settles the answer in over sleep. It fits well in her mind and the puzzles complete.
So is my story.
-The reason why there were so many grammatical errors is because I was typing this on my phone, in bed.
--1st Revision
And a nice young man sits on a dock.
The smell of sea salt ruffles the air.
Each grain of humidity is bound to the pores of his newly shaven beard.
But what is a man without a purpose?
A girl in a long grey sweater.
She haunts his sight and subsequently he forgets about the seasons, the sun, and the weather.
She stops and gives a brief smile- it's just them now.
There is a blank whiteness behind her. It is nothing.
When he sees her time stops. There is no peripheral.
When she sees him there's still the stars, the sun, the fish, and everything else a woman can see.
He knows this and everyday haunts himself with screams of 'why, why not just me?'
He stayed up for 4 nights trying to answer a vague question he'd thought of.
And no matter how much time he poured into pondering
the question remained unsolved and kept on bothering-
Him.
Again and again and again.
And now he wasn't just awake, but he was slamming his head on the bunk of his bed.
She lays in a cot and counts the stars.
Thinking of other boys she'd met on bars.
She hadn't a burden in the world, all her needs fulfilled by him and the freedom to give love to them.
She was quite content with the way things were.
She had the beauty, a taste, and the wits.
While he sat at home and slit his wrists.
After the blood, the pain, and the toll he decides to give.
He lays on the tracks with no will to live.
She cries for days and nights, countless to man.
Wonders what would drive him to that.
'He'd just wanted to die' she figures, and settles the answer in over some sleep.
It fits well in her mind and the puzzles complete.
So is my story.
--Original
And nice young man sits on a dock. The smell of sea salt ruffles the ajr. Each grain of humidity is bound to the pores of his newly shaven beard. But what is a man without a purpose. A girl in a long grey sweater. She haunts his sight and subsequently he forgets about the seasons, the sun, and the weather. She stops and gives a brief smile; it's just them now. There is a blank whiteness behind her. It is nothing. When he sees her time stops. There is no peripheral. When she sees him there's still the stars, the sun, the fish, and everything else a woman can see. He knows this and everyday haunts himself with screams of 'why, why not just me?' He stayed up for 4 nights trying to answer a vague question he'd thought of. And no matter how much time he poured into pondering the question remained unsolved and kept on bothering-
Him.
Again and again and again.
And now he wasn't just awake but he was slamming his head on the bunk of his bed. She lays in a cot and counts the stars. Thinking of other boys she'd met on bars. She hadn't a burden in the world, all her needs fulfilled by him and the freedom to give love to them. She was quite content with the way things were. She had the beauty, a taste, and the wits. While he sat at home and slit his wrists. After the blood, the pain, and the toll he decides to give. He lays on the tracks with no will to live. She cries for days and nights, countless to man. Wonders what would drive him to that. He'd just wanted to die, she figures and settles the answer in over sleep. It fits well in her mind and the puzzles complete.
So is my story.
In spite of the errors, you do have a lot of beautiful lines that really drive the poem.
