You pretty much touched on most of what I intended to convey, some intentionally and some unintentionally. I figure I'll share some insight with you to better let you see my perspective of it. 

I'm glad you liked the middle stanza so much as I think I was most proud of that one. While the last line of it did end up a bit backwards, I liked the way it sounded. The quick rhyme followed by the alliteration made it feel a little more fluid to me which, when I read it aloud, almost made the very obviously suicidal threat sound more calming. This and I wanted the word track to line up visually/rhythmically with the same word in the first line of the stanza.

As for the lipstick red, you had it right for the most part. People who vomit blood are typically those who vomit often, or those who are terminally ill/injured. 

Believe it not, that final line is probably the most prominent line of the poem. The effect it had on you is not terribly far off from what I intended. It punctuates the most

Way cool, my friend.  Way cool.  

The trochaic meter and the monosyllabic and disyllabic words create a trudging, stepwise pace that mirrors the poem's text about the drudgery of the speaker's day-to-day.  I *love that* about this piece.  

>lest I rest on tracks of train.

This line is a little too convoluted for my taste.  The grammar here feels all mangled up just to force in the rhyme.  It feels awkward because of that.  But the rest of that stanza is goddamn beautiful!  

>Gas tank needle tracks each week.  
>Substance fills the lifeblood leak.  

This might be my favorite couplet you've ever written.  From the subtle assonance of long /ee/ sounds that squeal out over the tongue, to the alliteration of "lifelong leak" foreshadowed in "needle" and "fill", to the visceral way the /ck/ and /t/ sounds clack and clank as I slog through these syllables... I was right there with you, feeling that sense of monochrome monotony and unending cyclical drudgery.  You made me feel that, and *h

"lest I rest on tracks of train" is so beautiful... the rhyme of lest and rest... the alliteration of tracks and train

I'm glad I was able to provoke such a reaction, and I'm happy to know that I was able to leave a lasting impression in your mind. In it's most basic form the metaphor was a visual representation of high to low. It was meant to represent both an obvious decay in health, as well as being a reference to the loss of a 'high' from any other source. Thanks for your feedback!

I like this poem even though it does reflect a depressing world we live in. Its very real and relatable I think, makes you think about the world. When you speak of the vice keeping you sane (e.g alcohol, which you further refer to in 'puke my guts'), it made think about why humans do commit acts we know are morally bad. The rhyme in it is also great, what do you mean by "loss of health from hill to valley"? I think this poem will stay in my mind for a couple of days

Thank you! I usually try to be careful that there aren't too many "one sec let me google that" words, but I am always trying to expand my vocabulary to capture the perfect word to make a statement resonate. Nothing is more frustrating than knowing exactly how you want to describe something, and not knowing the word to fit that description.

This is short, yet sweet. The language is very advanced, which may be a problem for some readers, but that isn't really a problem per se. This is really good work!

Thank you! I was really happy with how the second stanza came out!

The "paint the trash can" line was an extension of the previous one,  it was meant to be indicative of vomiting blood. I suppose the goal was the contrast between lipstick and trash can.

"Gas tank needle tracks each week.
Substance fills the lifeblood leak."

Put the biggest smile on my face. It was, unexpected too me. Brings a very vivid picture. 

"Paint the trash can lipstick red" 
Seems like a bit of a stretch to me from the previous line, though I may simply not understand it.

Either way, amazing work! 

Muggy morning rolls like dirge,  
bleeds me dry- insipid stirge.  
Loss of self marked by day's tally.  
Loss of health from hill to valley.  


Gas tank needle tracks each week.  
Substance fills the lifeblood leak.  
Vice is how I keep me sane;  
lest I rest on tracks of train.  


Rise and shine my shielded cuts;  
crash to carpet, puke my guts.  
Paint the trash can lipstick red but  
I'll be fine- it's in my head.  

&amp;nbsp;


I wrote this today as a *very* different perspective to something else I wrote.


https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4mtq4b/power_in_disappearing/d3yh9a6  
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4mnymd/the_bonefire_dance/d3yjd65

Everything's Gonna be Fine