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Bland- Prose by QuentixStarwing (critique requested)


As a name suggests things simply become the second rate things, unable to keep track of normal things. As a person can become so shaken up by a few words, disturbed concentration and in such a way it explains the weakness one won't change. Just a sad and silly mess to lose one's chance to continue explaining. Shiver, shaking, trample down a road and the lesson makes itself ready. Unyielding and unbecoming of what form its trying to hold. Just then, a few words are passed and it becomes like stream of consciousness. A lot, addled, whimpering, pitiable pile of self hatred with no direction. Not unlike a moment to gather the methods that one can take, not like this and not right now when someone's talking. Hearing the trace of the ones, who whistfully sigh over the lost matter at hand. There it is again and like dylsexia shall be unending in yield or result. Taking down the things which used to matter, if that were possible, the things that have become a definition to people. Like a trip through the woods with so many endless means and forms that lead to a single outcome in the end. Entropy is the force to fear? No, something much simple that will forever decide the fate of a person who goes by viably saying, they are a pawn of fate. One such outcome of a self-fulfilling situation that lacks sustenance to keep going and tremoring, trembling with the need of fair. Quake and just give into a plush pain as to say what at least is a part of the means, while getting in the means of take and soul. What measures are taken before lies, before justice, there are no solutions or straight paths. Only doubts and brief moments of clarity, with soul withered traps to bear down and take away that which makes you feel anything if that is to be heard as ridden as the truth. Illusions sway and songs will play but with no end, like a merry-go-round, the spinning is the only way they may go. Like a trial or a trail, there is no one way to view a single glance in life, in the end, is a bridging factor, and like this to is but a rant about one thing that simply stands alone. A thing that is all of this and yet nothing...but bland.

Bland- Prose (critique requested)


A stream of consciousness type prose, it makes some kind of point, but there would be stated as a lie if I didn't say that it fell to a strange place. In fact, that it was just that, a strange thing, like a dream that overcame me and yet stood on its own. It is, perhaps as the title suggests or then, much much more.

Please enjoy!

Submission Information

Literary / Poetry / Lyrics

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