In her mother's wheat field, she tried to kill herself. The soy will not grow when the corn ears will not listen, in denial in the ground. (she tried to crawl, but underneath six feet is such a height when you're only five-three) Barley is a burly male-factor, littering and loitering among the rapeseed. (scarecrows do not work on men who break stems and raze girls) Flax and linseed in fertile crescents become nightmares as she is laid, again and again, in the field: there is no catcher in the rye, just a seed in her stomach, and imprints of crop circle bruises on her back, reminders of a brutal hoax. |

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Comments
The imagery is vivid and almost overwhelming.
Great piece.
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I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name....
bad subject, rather well-written poem. well done~
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The world is not beautiful; therefore it is. ~ Kino no Tabi
~ShortStackStories
~Amaranth-Portal
=RawEm0tion
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"Don't forget that I cannot see myself. My role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror." - French poet Jacques Rigaut
EDIT: Oh, darn, I just said something! I must not be all that speechless after all...
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I've left dA for good. Sorry. Stalkers make life hell.
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"Let your words be fitting".
Inferno Canto X
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