I Continue To Walk (content)

[Cthonian]

Any city
centre that looks like this one is where I am walking.
I continue to walk.
Every piece of
living tissue inside me is clenched,
tightening together,
each fibre
steeling itself to stop me from weeping violently in the middle of the
street.
I grind
my teeth, force fingernails into my palm, and continue to walk.
I am
wearing clothes that are two days old.
I did not wash this morning, I
did not even look in the mirror; I avoid reflection.
A store surrounded by highly polished reflective wall.
I stopped to look, and in the ethereal, shimmering glass
I
saw a monochrome version of myself.
Features were only distinguishable
if I moved my head or waved my arms.
There was only a black and grey self
staring at me.

I tighten my dull muscles once more to stop tears
falling from my eyes,
I keep my head down because I cannot help but grimace.
My muscles are locked in this position.
I continue to walk.
Sadness engulfs me and I want to collapse
to the ground
but not crumple into a pile.

I want to suddenly command
my legs to cease walking
and then I want to lean forward quickly,

allowing the momentum of my upper half to fall forward,
ending with my face smashing into the concrete.

The lean forward will
be comical - nobody really falls that way,
like a tree falling in a forest
but I will be outside of my body at this point,
watching the fall until
I land.
There is no thud or crack as I make contact with the floor
the sound would more closely resemble a piece of beef on a stone slab
the
sound of meat reforming under intense pressure.
The collapse is great
and I feel my cheekbones splinter and snap
forcing my teeth now into
my tongue
until blood colours my teeth, chin and the ground.
I swallow
elements of bone and tooth and I splutter uncontrollably
but make no
attempt to move.

Upon reaching the ground, my spectacles fall from my face
slightly
only to be cracked and forced back onto me by the floor.
One
glass lens breaks, and the thin metal frame punctures an eyelid.
The
other lens fails to smash
and serves as a pool for the blood and tears
that fall from my eyes.
The way I land is the way I remain
until
unconsciousness occurs or I die from some kind of beautiful head
trauma.
I look at the floor and continue to walk.

When I crush the butt of the cigarettes under my boot,
it reminds me of crushing a dead insect
the embers of the flame and the burning papers
extinguished underneath me.

I flex my arms in my sleeves.
I suddenly become aware of the fact
that I cannot be
certain that it is indeed myself that is controlling this body.
I know
I wanted to walk to the other end of the city
but is it me that caused that?
The only activity that I
recollect of any substance
is the wanton description of smashing my
head
against the cold floor of the city.

When was that?
I do not know if that was today or years ago.
I continue to walk.
I see a woman of about my age walk
past
and I hold a door open for her to pass.
She smiles and says "Thank
you."
and I smile back to her, which hurts
because my facial muscles
are stinging
and disruption of my cheek muscles is likely to start me
weeping again.

I
suddenly turn right and continue to walk.
In front of me is the woman.
I watch her walk and I realise that when I saw her
smiling
I wanted to launch myself at her.
Not an
attack.
Wrap my arms around her
and
underneath her coat
and warm myself using her.
I want to kiss her face
and talk to her.
I want to touch her clothes and feel the materials and then rub my body against her skin and hair.
I want to imagine laughing with her but I cannot.

I walk behind her, unaware of whether I am just walking
or actually following her.
As I watch her walk my thoughts transform
into sexually violent fantasies.

I want to seize her and lick her face,
chew on her nose,
spit into her
mouth.
I want to look at her, naked.
I want to scrape dirty fingernails
down her waist and thighs.
I want to take her to nowhere
- a black expanse where nothing exists but myself and her,
standing naked facing each other.

Pushing her down by her face
whilst tearing at her hair
is a sublime experience for my mind.
Trying to force a fist into her mouth
as I kick and stamp over her legs,
I push a purposefully flaccid penis into her
and my fingernails cause lacerations
along her bloated stomach.
I think she cries out as I do this, but I cannot be sure.

As my penis grows inside her
I try to urinate but I am unable to
so I begin to punch her face repeatedly.

I continue to do so until her entire skull has caved in.
Her black blood coats my fist and I keep punching until my knuckles break
and shift backwards into my fist.
I stand above her with a broken hand
and I want to imagine tearing violently at her dead buttocks
and breasts
but I am again seized by an acute sadness
and I have to flex my muscles once more to halt the flow of tears.

I walk behind her until the end of the street
where
I cross the road towards the outskirts of the city.
She stays on the
same side of the street
and as I manoeuvre between the traffic
I look
back at her once,
knowing that I will never see this girl again.

I have imagined the colour of her bruised breasts
and the smell of her damaged vagina.
I continue to walk.

I remember the monochrome reflection from the bank
and I am suddenly disgusted by myself.
I am not a human,
merely a malformed essence of flesh.


I remember thinking of the barrel of the pistol
pressed into my forehead many years ago
and how it would feel against my skin.
I do not know how to imagine the sensation
- is the barrel metal?
I can only liken it to pressing a hot cigarette lighter onto my arm,
except this barrel seems to have no easily describable temperature.
All I imagine is a thick blackness,
like hard leather,
penetrating the membranes
of my sweating forehead,
perhaps roughly breaking the skin.
The shaft of the pistol is warm and wet,
and before pressing it against me
I remember sucking the barrel
and listening intently to the rolling of my tongue
in the hole of the muzzle
and then taking off my clothes to experience my body
in this state of heightened arousal.

I lay prone,
with as much of the barrel in my mouth as possible,
agitating my tongue
and throat
as I masturbate to orgasm
and I am suddenly in a state of worship
to both the pistol in my mouth
and the erect penis in my hand,
revealing themselves to me
as powerful monoliths that I own.

After the final quake of climax,
I push the pistol further into me
and I squeeze the trigger
and then I do not know what happens.

I find myself some seventy miles from the city,
standing atop a proud black mountain
at nighttime.
I observe the obscured view of the darkness
and I move slowly down the edge of the mountain.
I continue to walk.

[billy]

this for me a really good verse.
a few probs with it and the poem in general.


I lay prone,
with as much of the barrel in my mouth as possible, is 'as much' of and 'possible' needed
agitating my tongue
and throat these two lines tell how deep it is
as I masturbate to orgasm
and I am suddenly in a state of worship is 'and' needed?
to both the pistol in my mouth is 'the' needed
and the erect penis in my hand,is 'the' needed
revealing themselves to me is 'to me' needed?
as powerful monoliths that I own. ; is 'that i own' needed you have tem so we know you own them so to speak.

for me the baggage (excess words) need removing in order to tighten it up. take out anything that doesn't add to the poem, specially to a poem as powerful as this one is supposed to be.

the other point i want to mention is enjambment;

the sound would more closely resemble a piece of beef on a stone slab
the
sound of meat reforming under intense pressure.

on the above line bad use of enjambment really stops the flow and the power of the piece. once you get the idea of how enjambment works you can play about with it a little. when used this way it deters from being poetical as such and gives you and the reader lots of problems.

a 2nd 2nd point

try to get rid of as many I's as possible. me's to.
example;

I am remove this line
wearing clothes that are two days old.
I did not wash this morning, I remove 2nd I
did not even look in the mirror; I avoid reflection. remove the ';' and change 'I' to 'to' that takes care or 3 'I's. in four lines.

i think you have a good poem in there, you just need to let it out with a good strong edit. jmo
thanks for the read.

[addy]

This is an intensely sad poem... the mixing of sex, misery, and violence was genuinely upsetting and painful, and you've used it to great effect. There was some powerful stuff here (imagining what a gun feels like, fantasizing about a stranger just to feel something).

As for the structure, I noticed some of the line breaks were a bit random (no logic, didn't improve the flow, etc). One thing you can do to improve this is to read your poem aloud... then you could hear where the line breaks and emphasis would more naturally be.

Another thing you could tweak with this is to lessen the use of things such as adjectives and other errant musings... sometimes they are crucial but other times you'll find they are superfluous and add little to the mood you are generating. As much as possible, keep it spare... you don't have to fatten up the word count

That said, with a little tweaking you have yourself a stand-out piece. As it is you've left this reader quite shaken (in a good way)

[Cthonian]

Thank you both for reading and giving your feedback, Billy and Addy, I'm very grateful.

That critique is fantastic, Billy. I will take your points on board and start work on a revision. Regarding the removal of the "I's" and "me's", I think that'll be a little challenge for me - to go through the whole poem and work out alternatives/removals. I'll also look at enjambment a bit more. As I might have stated in other posts, I am an amateur poet with no real formal knowledge of things such as this. The poem itself was written in a stream of consciousness way whilst walking around the "city" mentioned in the first few lines. When I got home, I tried to get it all onto the paper before forgetting anything, and ultimately I liked the way the verse was broken and ragged, which is why some of the line breaks are random, as Addy mentioned. I also found it hard to edit it myself without any critique as I had become so used to this piece as it was. Your suggestions for the "wearing clothes that are two days old" section are brilliant. Just goes to show how small edits can improve the verse dramatically.

Addy - I'm very glad it affected you in that way, after all that was my intention. Apologies for leaving you shaken though! Another reason this one was left without an edit for so long is the simple fact that I found it difficult to re-read at times as it's obviously a very personal poem and reflects a certain time in my life that I found hard to change, for better or worse.

I'm looking forward to getting some time alone to make a few changes to this poem, thank you both so much.

[critical mass]

There is a lot going on here.

Busy, busy, busy.

It's a bit long to hold my attention.
Watch your modifiers to see if they add anything or slow the piece down.

I think this is better suited for prose where you expect to get this involved in the story line. But thats just my opinion. The Raven was longer than this.

Other than that I think you captured the voice and the mood just fine.

David