# What you did to me



## sore (Apr 29, 2013)

_*(sorry this is long, I decided to do a poetic-short-story kind of thing. tell me what you think!) 
*_
*(I also made a poem out of this in the comments below, as suggested)*

           Cold smoke seeped out of colder throats, turning saints into the dead sea. My lungs filled up, leaving the air stale around my face, for my bones have found a place to lie down and sleep, under the cruel hands of a cigarette. Lovers in despair, we sat in silence letting the cigarette smoke kiss our lips and tell our story for us; our story that had no ending, but faded away slowly.

            The warmth of your breath against the icy night air spells it out for me:
 “Your skin and bones have seen better days.” I knew you no longer loved me, for your clumsy tongue didn’t need to explain. Still, our hands match, and I wish my limbs would become trees, or flowers, so I can no longer feel your skin on mine.

            I watch your collarbones go up, and down as you breathed the last words you would say to me, and I imagine running out of my bones and leaving them out of this home, out on the road for you to pick up as a reminder of what you have done to me, so easily, too.

            Flowers grew inside of me where nothing else could; weeds I suppose. I’ll pluck at their petals until they wilt in my stomach acid and tangle around my organs, waiting for spring again. I’m just a foolish, fragile spine you no longer love, you no longer see in keeping around. You say your good-byes, and I say mine: “Perhaps they were right putting love into books. Perhaps it could not live anywhere else.”

            I slept on an acre of bones that night, and you slept like a bucket of snow. You made flowers grow inside of me, they entwined through my ribcage and sprouted through my delicate skin, but then you left, and with you, the light followed. My flowers wept, and now my body is broken; an empty garden.


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## spublogger (Apr 29, 2013)

You have created some great imagery and great lines. You should work this into a poem. Repeating entire paragraphs and sentences ? what do you think? work this into a poem, you can do it !


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## sore (Apr 29, 2013)

okie, I shall work on that! thank you!


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## sore (Apr 29, 2013)

spublogger said:


> Repeating entire paragraphs and sentences ?


oops, that was a technical error on my part, haha!


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## sore (Apr 29, 2013)

*poem:

*Cold smoke
seeped out of colder throats.
Lovers in despair, we sat in silence,
letting the cigarette smoke
tell our story for us;
Our story that had no ending,
but only faded away slowly.

The warmth of your breath against the icy night air spells it out for me:
“Your skin and bones have seen better days.”
Yet, our hands still match, and I wish my limbs
would become trees so I could no longer feel
the tingle of your skin on mine.

I run out of my already hollow bones
and leave them out on the road as a reminder
of what you have broken.
I remain an empty garden;
Flowers growing inside of me
where nothing else could;
Weeds I suppose.
I pluck at their petals
until they wilt in my stomach acid
and tangle around my organs,
waiting for spring again.

(waiting for you to pick up
the pile of bones I left for you,
and waiting for someone to untangle
the mess of weeds you left behind).


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## Cory Zapatka (Apr 29, 2013)

Sore-- really powerful imagery.


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## sore (Apr 30, 2013)

thank you c:


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## crypticsonnet (Jun 2, 2013)

Interesting. Some of your lines are very reminiscent to Elena Tonra's lyrics; or maybe it's just me. 

Keep writing, girl!


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## Vitaly Ana (Jun 2, 2013)

Big fan of your work! Thanks for sharing! Few comments below...

;-)

Cold smoke
seeped out of colder throats.
Lovers in despair, we sat in silence,
letting the cigarette smoke
tell our story for us; *(that is a very creative way to blend imagery and narrative)*
Our story that had no ending,
but only faded away slowly.

The warmth of your breath against the icy night air spells it out for me:
“Your skin and bones have seen better days.”
Yet, our hands still match, and I wish my limbs
would become trees so I could no longer feel
the tingle of your skin on mine. *(Another one of my fave parts - excellent feeling to this!)*

I run out of my already hollow bones *Fantastic!*
and leave them out on the road as a reminder
of what you have broken.
I remain an empty garden;
Flowers growing inside of me
where nothing else could;
Weeds I suppose.
I pluck at their petals
until they wilt in my stomach acid
and tangle around my organs,  *(This line and the three above seem to be a little redundant. You've already got this feeling across. This seems almost too dramatic?)*
waiting for spring again.

(waiting for you to pick up
the pile of bones I left for you,
and waiting for someone to untangle
the mess of weeds you left behind).

Overall - excellent. You are a good poet!

:grin:


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## Arcopitcairn (Jun 4, 2013)

"I slept on an acre of bones that night, and you slept like a bucket of  snow. You made flowers grow inside of me, they entwined through my  ribcage and sprouted through my delicate skin, but then you left, and  with you, the light followed. My flowers wept, and now my body is  broken; an empty garden."

Art, for me.


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## escorial (Jun 4, 2013)

I prefer the verse to the poem,it has more depth the way you expressed human emotions as smoke and nature.Your regret comes through and the sadness is expressed,given the subject matter and your own personnel feelings..if indeed it is personnel,if not then you write so well.


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