>Friend nodded,
>Friend reappeared
Is 'Friend' a name?
The last paragraph strikes me as melodramatic, in particular:
>He cursed all clothes, wanting nothing more than to exist in a world where his flesh would be free to touch hers.
Critique Thread
Elijah Wright
Carson White
y/n was laying on the bed, clad in sexy (your favorite color) lingerie. gnomeo walked in after a long day of helping his mom with the toilet flower and flexing his sexy muscles. upon seeing you, he let out a deep smexy moan, his hat popping up erect along with his meatstick. “gnomeo-kun…” you purred, shaking your hips seductively. “no babe not tonight im boutta piss” he groaned out. you gasped and bit your lip, craving the blue boy’s sweet, sweet pee pee. you slithered off the bed, army crawling to his feet. you tugged off his boots, holding back a moan at the sight of his yummy toesies OwO. you slurped them all up, moaning as his big ol donger got larger. you finally released the beast, salivating at his massive porcelain dongey. you slorped that up too. ur eyes rolled to the back of ur head as gnomeo finally released his delicious amber dick liquid down ur throat. ur belly felt so nice, you wanted more. you grabben gnomeo by his head and put him down ur throat, sighing as he slipped his way down ur esophogas, landing in ur lovely pink tummy. you had a good meal.
Kayden Powell
Wow this is obscure. Are you crossposting from /mu/? It's rather silly for poetry but it might work in a song. I can't hear it in my head though, and I'm not about to sing it aloud. I'm mostly wondering why you even wrote this. Is this for practice? Or do you actually intend to cover the song?
Connor Barnes
Because I am the greatest rapper of this generation, I have no use for the advice of a pleb.
Thank you anyway, because I'm sure you and your peanut brain had only the best intentions.
Julian Gutierrez
I came across this album on Spotify while listening to different versions of this song: youtube.com
I really got into Barrett's original songs, I mean, almost the album is original pieces, and I just felt like coming up with some lyrics about a crazy party to one of them.
Jace Campbell
She smoked in the rundown backyard. The dog was barking. The sun was setting. The rent was due. $1200 to be wired out of Susan’s account by sundown. $1200 she did not have. The anxious minutes and tireless seconds dragged her down. Each tick of clock was a fresh notch on her back. The monotonous song of grasshoppers reminded her of childhood, and of how life seemed to start anew right at the moment of collapse.
“There have been many difficulties,” Susan said inconsolate and placid, “There are many more to come.”
Isaiah Myers
This is the opening to something I'm working on. I feel like there's something wrong with it, but I'm oddly kind of attached to it anyway. Tell me yr thoughts
>Tonight the bus window only reflects its insides; either night-fog or something like night-fog snuck inside the glass panes on its left row. And so the world was invisible.
Benjamin Butler
Hebs are only in texas noone else will know shat youre talking about
Jose Ortiz
this is some decent kmart realism
Jaxon James
A half-caught glance from a woman's face, burnt-orange by electric luminance behind the fogged glass which, dripped with rain and imprinted with the outlines of children hands, is hazily mirrored onto the wet pavement directly beneath the window of the cafe you wearily pass every evening from the subway. You hadn't glimpsed her expression's start, when the mouth shows tightening and curls upwards, revealing the edges of teeth between parted lips, flushing red this time of year, and neither had you caught the corners of her nose, sharp and small, beginning to gently flare as the cheeks rise, curving inwards at their center stressing dimples, nor the pupils dilating, expanding her—from what you can tell—rings of hazel intermixed with her short twined hair, diffuse and scattered in slits along her forehead, coiling along her edges and ears as though a tired building's vines. You had only seen the apogee, receiving, so you think, her completed stare into your own; her head starting to return down to her book, open below her on the widow-seated table. Your step undoes her reflection underfoot as you pass along these quarter's streets and passages.
Yes, you think, continuing down these familiar pathways homeward, there are certain things that only happen at night.