Originally Posted by
Emily
Riff-raff refuses refunds
Do not disturb
the squalor of my senses;
Nor the scum surfacing my soul
I go within, as to not go
without, my core of mud heart
It plays and sings
in unrestricted
glorious
filth
Scum surfacing your soul. I really wish you used the image of a sink or a shower, I just started imagining soap scum and it painted a gloriously filthy perspective as your writing suggests. Opening line opens up a lot of interesting questions, they refuse their money back. They don't want to be disturbed by something like that, you don't want to be disturbed my something like that. Rather dwell in the dirt and the mud, simple one-two of 'mud heart' was much appreciated. Unrestricted, glorious, filth, I kind of whispered those lines to myself with less loud of a voice each time. It had a great effect for me, maybe add some hostility to the final line with the whisper, almost like a puritan saying nasty things under their breath about a disreputable person in town. Much like the opening stanza, your squalor of senses is the squalor of my imagination. Wretched, indeed it is.
Every intention, meant for one
Every prayer, mocked
Every whisper, screeched
Every kiss, blown away
Good usage of repetition here. Taking things and adding a layer of hostility to it. mocked prayers, screeched whispers, kisses that are blown to you are blown back. Every intention, meant for one -- I sat with that line the most though. Saw it as your own intentions, meant for one: that one being yourself perhaps. Of the self, for the self; nothing but you. You blow kisses away, because romantic love sickens you. It repulses you.
I have love to give;
to…the wrong person
Strong two line bridge here. The wrong person, the dark and abusive kind of person perhaps.
Repulsed by rivalry inside me
Sovereign of sinful sanity
Ruler of revolting reaction
Princess of pernicious poison
cold-shoulders compassion
snubbing disdain, spurned by
your nauseating
tenderness
Spurned by your nauseating tenderness is a great collection of words. Echoes that sentiment I talked about above, repulsed by tender love. Your compassion is the cold shoulder kind, I wonder if they gave you the cold shoulder then they would become the 'right person'. You are the queen, princess, monarch of all of the terrible things inside of you. The dark, the cruel, the abusive, they harbor you; they are you. Your land where the wretched 'love' commands, and all gestures of tender romance shall be burnt at the stake.