String me up by my nervestwisted, contorted, inside outand my mind, it also curvesI can't stand common conversationsitting as Le Penseur still doesstaring in my admirationmy eyes burn into blursme and you can't seem to seemy friends again deceive usand when it's time to live I want to gorun away to where it would snowcold and alone is where I'm meanthoist your pitchforks and pitch your tentsstring me up with body partsfrom the simpletons in your armyand hang me by societies' noosehang me until my legs hand loose...
twisted, contorted, inside out Well named, House of Rot.
A rather dark poem. Its good though. You need to edit to correct typos but over all out of a 1 to 10 range, 10 being the highest score I would give this a 7. Obviously you have talent. I would like to read more of your work maybe in a different direction.
the mys mes distracted me a lil but other than that I thought it was pretty good, esp the hoist your pitchforks and pitch your tents - loved that (not a critic)
