the ever crawling bone (cw: grotesque)

[saintmonkey]

the ever crawling bone

Running in circles, lost in a daze
time no longer flows, legs worn to bare bone
cursing my steps as i falter
these visions growing ever darker
mangled corpses seething, imploding in horror,
hanged from an old oak in ruined sorrow

My mind cruelly raped, all its soft flowers crudely raked
never will they blossom as the roots are hollowed,
and their sap is brewed into a bitter tea,
sipped by mangy hounds covered in fleas
silently my wounds leak black marrow,
while my corpse is wheeled off a cliff in a barrow

On the cold floor i now crawl
in the corner staring, a horrid hellspawn
his body covered in icy chains, slowly they thaw
he asks me slowly, “are you guilty?”
“…guilty of wasting your life?”
he laughs a wicked cry as i open my mouth to lie,
but i forgot how to speak long ago
unnaturally contorts my torso, as i lie low,
from my mouth sprawls a great maggot,
feeding the hungry sea of carrion crows

I want to break it, the ever galloping horse of fear
i can but tremble, as his breath draws nearer
overcome by his rancid stench i crawl in terror,
only to fall in the black gulch of guilt, enfeebled
cocooned in an old stained jacket poorly needled
in its sleeves, hide all the shadows left ungreeted
deep down there in the gulch of gulches i see,
an old door half off its hinges, covered in bees
i walk through the honey door and all is clear

Drenched in honey,
i walk to the sunny fields
so green and neat
rays of light softly gleam,
as flowers and trees go on forever
everyone is here together
so long has it been
since i have felt it,
this warmth in my chest
mother and father by my side
the gentle wind feels so nice
i lay down in the soft grass,
crimson flower on my lap
i see my mothers eyes,
so kind and blessed
i close my eyes,
taking my final rest

I scream in agony waking from my fool's dream,
as my mother's rotten, sunken eyes gaze through me
i am carried by her cold, withered hands unladen,
they stuff me into a suffocating gray cradle
in it i am dragged back to the cold marble
now all alone, in my hands the same ladle,
from which the first poison was gargled
so have even the lowliest crows departed

[rowens]

I want to break it, the ever galloping horse of fear
i can but tremble, as his breath draws nearer
overcome by his rancid stench i crawl in terror,
only to fall in the black gulch of guilt, enfeebled
cocooned in an old stained jacket poorly needled
in its sleeves, hide all the shadows left ungreeted
deep down there in the gulch of gulches i see,
an old door half off its hinges, covered in bees
i walk through the honey door and all is clear


That's your direction.

Center the poem with that stanza and let what comes before and after it hinge on it, cutting everything and adding anything like two arrows, one pointing up to it and one pointing down to it, living to serve that center.

[Rcklay]

Hello, This is my first critique- I will do my best to make it productive.

The imagery here is striking and you create a compelling arc by inserting the stanza of false hope. The flow and cadence seem to support the themes of confusion and trauma, which adds significant value to the emotional experience. I also notice some cyclical metaphors, which are effective in creating the sense that the speaker is trapped in a loop where healing is ever in sight but never fully attained.

I do suggest that you pare down the number of images- particularly in stanzas 1-4. If each stanza has fewer images than the one before, you will be able to incrementally expand on each image. This might culminate in a robust dive into the sensory experience of the “gulch of gulches,” and provide an even greater contrast between it (the gulch of gulches) and what is beyond the “honey door.”

Overall, the poem is rich and packed with symbolism and creates a vivid reading experience. Thank you for sharing!