ahh! amazing. i think the first stanza definitely puts this piece into abstract, haha. did a double take before i realized "frozen dream wand" and "bubbles" were a gun and bullets. anyways. i love the stanzas after the first one. it just keeps getting better and better. however, i do have to say i think the first stanza might be a bit too abstract for the rest of the poem. maybe. and i'm being kind of snooty, but i think the sunsets/blood thing got a little cliche due to falloutboy. anyways. other than those first stanza bits i pointed out, i think this is amazing and wonderful! a superb write!

All I can say is: WOW.
Please write more.

I thought this was pretty well written. The first part was amazing: "frozen dream wand, give me bubbles that bruise, and i'll bleed sunsets for you."

'frozen dream wand,
give me bubbles that bruise
and i'll bleed sunsets for you'

The first line represents an idea, a single passion in the midst of all our day to day thoughts which we incorporate our lives by. Bubbles is an interesting word choice, but I'll associate it with ideas because thoughts are transparent and harmless without the spoken word. This makes sense with the third line, but it's beautiful here because you're kinda promising your dreams or wishes something, a tribute to them, that you will fulfill them no matter how harsh or cold life turns on you. It feels like you're describing a self-fulfilling prophecy. These lines are gorgeous.

'staring into
your cylindered abyss,
the bang of silver-and-bone undoes me,
and with that last mask ruptured,
a smoke-shot rose blooms between my eyes.'

I know this poem is entitled seven ways to die, but there seems to be lots of ways to pick at this. Staring into cylinder eyes at first glance seems to be normal, even typical really. But then you express (in my opinion) that eyes are like wells with fathomless emotions and reasonings you can never fully understand. I believe this is emphasised with the word 'abyss'.

The rest of the lines afterwards forces me to steer back into your doctrine of the poem, which seems impossible for me to relate to anything I've just interpreted. But if I may say, I think ideas can be like silver bullets, they do kill people when spoken and put into action. That's probably the most obvious when looked at things like war.

A smoke-shot rose blooms between my eyes is such a beautifully horrific line. It's so much sexier and malevolent than saying 'oh fuck, i'm shot. he shot me.' You are an excellent writer with a powerful voice.

'then, will i gather
the shimmering haze of myself—
that iridescent puddle of too many
prisms and prisons—and drift aimless
toward the neverland skies?'

Wow. The first half of this poem seems like you're dutifully carrying yourself to death, as if death were not a mandate, but actually a burden we promised ourselves too a long time ago. In the next half, you end it with a question? In a single and implying form, you question the role of God and heaven. You question religion. You question the very existence of an afterlife where you might find piece, and I sense a bit of sarcasticness: where was God when He saw all this shit hit the fan? Wonderful.

'or will i linger,
a red river seething with memory,
until the pavement cracks have drank me dry,
and sink into suburban story,
forgotten?'

This is like a cinematic clip. Lovely.

'your shadow-spun trigger won't tell me,
but averts its murky eyes.'


I feel like I'm watching smoke protrude from the trigger, and that it has a metaphorical eye that silences voices of all kinds. But how can it have murky eyes? That's tough. At first I got the image that the person holding the gun was resisting, was hesitating, was pulling back. But then I thought, how could that match with the previous lines? Oh wait, whoops, seven ways to die, of course that's why the poem seems fractured. Maybe the last line, instead of an overal conclusion, is just a means of escaping? That's a pretty weak answer I know, but I'm at a loss with how to analyze this final part.

Well, this is the end of my review. I think this was very beautifully written. It's horrible that beautiful is the word I write to describe how creative and genious this poem felt to me, impressed me. It transcends beauty, it stands to me as a monument of perfection and fine art. I want you to know I don't say stuff like this often, I want you to know I mean what I say when I tell you you've really impressed me with this piece.

It's a pity I can't read and review your other works because I'm not strong in politics. Indeed, It's not even really in my interests. But I've read them and I think you have an amazing talent. So please, keep writing.

- Julian

This is quite amazing actually. I had trouble deciphering some of the lines (through no fault of yours) but there is beautiful, haunting imagery here and wonderful metaphors. I adored the line (and the imagery of) "a smoke-shot rose blooms between my eyes" as well as "until the pavement cracks have drank me dry". I added this to my c2.

Unremarkable. I know that's a terrible thing to say, and honestly this poem has what I knew you could do already, which is quasi-Victorian, solid imagery and interesting phrases. But it's about slashing one's wrists in a bathtub, and you've given it nothing more than that. "blots of misery" is very nice. "unravel me at the themes" is very nice. But it's just sadness, and that's...all over this site. Make a hook and a twist, or a moral, or something, and it'll be a poem instead of a pronouncement of woe.

i like this poem. sure, it's angsty but at the same time original not the usual crap one hears that is unintriguing and unnecessary. again, well conveyed, unique, the imagery was lovely.

good work.

this chapter is again well written. lovely imagery displayed.

Impressive. The images in this are vivid and haunting and simply beautiful. I love the flow of this and the painful, honest rawness of it all. Bravo.

Good. I especially like the last three stanzas, and "i die to throw myself to the breeze" is excellent. The themes of freedom and of burning are woven throught the poem very nicely.

Fantastic imagery--really great... all of it. I can't wait for number 2.

Oh Dear Julia. Sometimes your poems depress me. Sometime they make me blush. And sometimes they make me THINK. (which kind of hurts by the way.) Anyway. Good work (as usual)and you had better get published soon.

P.S. Keep your muse on a tight leash!

the imagery is utterly amazing.

I love and relate to Sylvia so there was no way I could not read this, even though I was prepared to be let down—there are few people who can do Sylvia Plath any justice (myself not included). But this is excellent. I loved every word and I look forward to more. This is my first favorite since my return to fictionpress a few months ago. I’ve been doing a lot of reading and seen a lot of nice pieces, but this takes the cake. Keep up the amazing work!

intriguing. mysterious. i love it. = )

the imagery, and details were amazing. keep it up.