The Ghost Of Myself (Feedback Appreciated)?

Question

the city lights try to reassure us, tomorrow

the sun will be back... the streets show no

remorse for the lives that they swallow

everyday.
sitting next to him in his car, tears falling

from those dark eyes full of mascara and

liner, streaking her face with pain bleeding

midnights screams. the broken life of a

tattered soul, who at some point forgot what

she was supposed to be when she grew up...now

frozen waters harbor her heart, one wrong move

it could be shattered and her life would be

over.

She clutches her purse as if it is a lifeline,

as if it is her breath, her addiction, and

also her worst fear... inside a hidden pocket

is a razorblade, inside another, scizzors

bandages... She has only tried burning once or

twice, drugs... more than that, and there is

such a rush when she knows that she can save

herself heartache with blood.

Isnt it so insane to actually be able to carve

into your skin and not feel anything,

perfection could never be attained and so by

making imperfections at least you arent on the

fence between worlds of perfect and imperfect,

now you are truly a flaw, an imperfection, a

word written in the wrong place, completely

incomplete of what they all expected of you.

I am in a room, Walking back and forth, the

lullaby of an empty echoe, the sound of my

shoes creating a sincere silence, a broken

smile, tears...Nothing, I cant even cry

because I have forgotten how to produce

emotion.

In the essence of our past, I could almost

bring myself to a place of substance, where I

used to know how to laugh, or be who I truly

am, but Close isnt close enough.
We were once eachothers air, lifeline, we were

what kept the other one inside and alive in

this life of "half empty-ness"

The city lights cant reassure that I will see

the sun tomorrow, the black streets will

swallow every ounce of anything I had believed

in,
because I know that when I step out of this

car, it will be the end of everything we lived

for, for so long, our entire selves,
The Fragranced air has now turned stale and I

know that It is time to walk away...

I clutch my purse with every bit of strength I

have left, knowing that I can let you go when

I get upstairs to my apartment...in an

enclosed room, alone.

I can carve you out of my soul and my life,

and I can walk away, completely dissatisfied

with myself, and broken because of you.
We must have written this break up a thousand

times in a play, I have seen it in my mind so

many times, and yet, im almost not here, not

aware that it is over.

How bittersweet and tragic that We had to end

on a stage in front of thousands of people

reading our life story in the whisper of a

crowd. How ridiculous and predictable that I

could paint you and everyone else would know

what I couldnt seem to see, I am the artist,

you were the muse, I was the writer, you were

the blues, the colors of emptiness painted

your face, and I was to blind to see that all

this time, I walked in an empty apartment, to

the silenced lullabies of sadness, You made me

the ghost of myself...

The end to every story, the memory that haunts

you, the conclusion to a long year of

emptiness, and hurt, the remnant of whatever I

had left, The empty echoe of footsteps where

there were none, Take your bow, I have written

you like we never existed...

Answer 1

Kind of complexly-composed poem creatively leading astrray the unwary casual reader that it is about a love-sick maiden in reflection "sitting next to him in his car" at night. And that the city lights are aglow along some indifferent streets, that "show no remorse for the lives that they swallow
everyday." The maiden's "tears falling from those dark eyes full of mascara and liner."

But then that is when poetic licence starts going over the board in my view! The mascara and liner streak her face with "pain bleeding"! Can't make sense of that??
And then "She clutches her purse as if it is a lifeline,
as if it is her breath, her addiction, and also her worst fear"

This life-saving purse contains objects capable of drawing blood or first aid kit, "inside a hidden pocket is a razorblade, inside another, scizzors bandages."
Dunno? Yes. . . sounds like the maiden tried doing drugs earlier, "She has only tried burning once or twice, drugs," and once tried to cut herself with the sharp objects inside her purse to "save herself heartache with blood." I am a afraid that may be too literal a reading. The objects, drugs, blood and all might suggest some very deep complex emotions but then, "the speaker declares she has no such feelings, "Nothing, I cant even cry because I have forgotten how to produce emotion." Hence, am persuaded to believe the speaker once tried to cut her own fingers, her own skin like a love-sick suicidal neurotic as she asks rhetorically, "Isnt it so insane to actually be able to carve
into your skin and not feel anything"?

I wonder what "perfection could never be attained"!! to the extent that this lines express the ideal, "and so by making imperfections at least you arent on the fence between worlds of perfect and imperfect, now you are truly a flaw, an imperfection, a word written in the wrong place, completely incomplete of what they all expected of you."

Inspite of all these symbolic misdirections, the evasive central idea of the poem appears to be in this line:
"what kept the other one inside and alive in this life of "half empty-ness" is "the essence of our past,"

Wow! There's no other entity besides the maiden and her imaginary self-love since "I could almost bring myself to a place of substance, where I used to know how to laugh, or be who I truly am,"
And then fathom this next line: "but Close isnt close enough.We were once eachothers air, lifeline." Oo yes, the title begins to unpack itself!
The sun will rise again tomorrow but these street lights give no assurance, no consolation, "The city lights cant reassure that I will see the sun tomorrow,"
Once the sun rises the next day, only these streets will know what exactly happened at night since "the black streets will
swallow every ounce of anything I had believed in," But why? we are tempted to ask. And the answer: "because I know that when I step out of this car, it will be the end of everything we lived for," Amen.

The maiden-speaker and her ghostly alter-ego were conjoined metaphorically "for so long, our entire selves," But tonight "The Fragranced air has now turned stale and I
know that It is time to walk away". My Goodness! Yes go back!! Grab your purse and return to your upstairs apartment!! It is better to do your things in seclusion dear!
"I clutch my purse with every bit of strength I have left, knowing that I can let you go when I get upstairs to my apartment...in an enclosed room, alone."
Good.

Now you can carve in peace as you try to reflect about your own self addressed as YOU who has broken your double: "I can carve you out of my soul and my life, and I can walk away, completely dissatisfied with myself, and broken because of you."

Yes it is " bittersweet and tragic" that you "had to end
on a stage in front of thousands of people reading our life story in the whisper of a crowd." Indeed it is "ridiculous and predictable" that you could "could paint you and everyone else would know what I couldnt seem to see," It was because "I am the artist," and your other half, please? "you were the muse." So if "I was the writer," what was the you? "you were the blues, the colors of emptiness painted
your face." and did you see the colors for sure? Please be frank! "I was to blind to see that all this time, I walked in an empty apartment, to the silenced lullabies of sadness," Yes I get "too blind" to see.

Finally, whatever this muse is, it is fundamentally connected to the speaker in some metaphysical, sentimental way:
"You made me the ghost of myself..", "The end to every story," "the memory that haunts you," and "the conclusion to a long year of emptiness, and hurt." If the alter-ego was all these, it must have been also "the remnant of whatever I
had left." Hence, the poem is essentially, about "The empty echoe of footsteps where there were none."

The "you" of the last line is the "your" addressee which fundamentally the poet has "written" ie to I have written you not about you. Written you as if "we" you and I never existed!
"Take your bow, I have written you like we never existed..."

What a complex poem that defies simple reductionist flat plains!! Sounds in parts like wobbling through the boulders of T.S. Eliot's "Wastelands" chanting "The Love Song of Alfred Pruffrock" as if on the high road to Bethlehem!!

Gosh!! got creative imaginations here.

Answer 2

Wow, that was very well written. I think the most important factor of this section was the emotion, which you portrayed so well through your character that I couldn't help but feel a pang in my heart for her. The misery is brought out exceedingly well. As for your style, I like it. It is elegant but not contrived, and the words seem to flow effortlessly. There are a few spots that I would suggest you change, such as in the first paragraph where you're describing the door. Instead of putting: She stood frozen, her eyes glued to the door. The tall oaken door that had always been friendly to her now reeked of menace and death. She did not want to touch it, let alone open the heavy wooden panel. I would put something like: She stood frozen, her eyes glued to the door. The tall slab of oak that had always been friendly to her now reeked of menace and death. She did not want to touch it, let alone open it. Just my opinion though... sometimes using synonyms such as "panel" make it sound like you're trying too hard to avoid a pronoun. Other than that I really didn't see any other things I would fix. I think this is great, and really made me feel for the character. If you achieved that through only a few paragraphs, think of what your whole book would do to me :) Anyways, great job. And thank you for helping me with my dilemma. Your answer cleared some things up for me :) I hope I could help, Good luck and happy writing

Answer 3

Wow! It's beautifull!!I've still got goosebumps from reading it....