Poverty like an empty chalice;
Stella you slut.
Judge me and I’ll keep chugging.
Gulp, gulp in sync with my pulse.
(Slowing).
Down it, down the throat,
Out the bottle
Which is a boat on my bloody ocean.
I’m not drunk.
Liquid obsession,
Supplied to my suicidal demand.
Poverty like an empty chalice
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Sorry ap, but to me this isn't reading like a poem but more a series of ideas that might make a poem. I'm going to move it to beginners to give you chance to work it up into something more considered.
Ros
Ros
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
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Like the pacing of that Anon.Gulp, gulp in sync with my pulse.
(Slowing).
Like the gear change to directness in L2. Would Blanche be a more interesting choice than Stella? Perhaps retitle to Chalice and let L1 work the elaboration.Poverty like an empty chalice;
Stella you slut.
Not keen on the abstracts of the concluding lines, but perhaps you could blend more of the woman/poverty into this poem?
all the best
mac
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Yeah I have to agree it doesn't read like a poem as yet. I think you could do a bit more to flesh out these images, add some rhyme and generally try add a bit more rhythm to it. Definitely some good ideas here though.