Suicide- wanting constructive criticism

this was written ina very bad part of my life. I had just lost my mother and was havin problems at home and was wanting to be the girl in this poem so badly. Please I only want constructive criticism .sorry bout length. thanks guys peace out love u's all

All was dark. A black cloud lay above casting a shadow over the house. Rain pelted down in massive sheets and thunder rumbled like a giants roar. Lightening leapt across the sky and left almost as quickly as it had come. The house stood by itself, lonely and miserable, standing in its own self pity. Inside it held another lonely soul whos self pity had turned into self- hate and driven her to such extremes that her body ached at the need to harm itself. Inside she lay spread across the rug her clothes drenched in deep red blood. Her chest rising and falling, but barely. Her heart pounding, but not with love, but fear of herself. Her hands shaking, trembling, curling and uncurling with the dagger nearby. The hands did it. The hands did it, she thought. She could not control them. It was the hands.

The house whistled with the wind invading it and then escaping before it could be kicked out. The house whistled in agreement. It knew, it knew that it was the hands that had done it.

Laying with her eyes wide open in a frozen shock, staring at the roof, staring into emptiness. So many nightmares of that one look. So many staring faces, shocked at her, shocked at what she had

done, what an embarassment she was- ‘should be ashamed.’ So many bad dreams about the so many times she had seen that one look. Her mother, lying in painful death on the bed that she had given birth to her own daughter, this girl. Her brother falling to the ground, bouncing off the concrete in a last attempt to escape death. The bullet in his heart leaking all his crimes onto the ground for everyone to see. And his last words- ‘sorry.’

She lay there , her breathing slowing to an almost holt, gasping for air now in an attempt to stay alive, purely based on reflex. Longing for the suffering to cease, she stops holding on. It was time to let go. Say goodbye to everything she never had. To love, to hope, to life. Saying goodbye to the nightmare that she had lived in for long enough. Knowing this was not a dream she faded away not knowing where she was going and what journey she would embark on but knowing it was a new beginning even better, a chance which is more than life here has to offer.

 

The style of writing is interesting, but I think there is too much narrative, too much exposition.

 

the trick is to find your style, no matter how absurd it is, and then go with it, and write the full length novel. That's what I did, with my 'schizo-writing', the style I used to write Godfuck, which you can find at the link below.

 

what do you think of it?
hault is spelt like that, not 'holt,' I believe
Maybe try to concentrate on her point of view a little more than narrative

overall though... it is very head-turning, ear opening

 

good story. Make it longer, develop it. And its spelled HALT not hault or holt

 

abrandnewday: i loved it. no criticism to be given from me. two thumbs up.

i could see her, i could see the storm, i could feel her pain.

i hope things are well for you now.

 

i liked it also, but i say watch some of the words you use, and make sure it flows...because i think you repeated a word once or twice, and it just sounds redundant


but overall i liked it a lot keep writing