Last Man Standing posted his piece and I got inspired by it. I was going to write a separate piece, but I liked the idea of his piece with my responses. This is purely for fun of it and I take no credit for what he wrote. Mine is in italics. Thanks for reading and commenting if you do either.

Once in love with the world
But now she feels so numb about everything
People disgust her
She lost her passion

Folded wings o'er buried head
Hidden eyes, sunless
Unfeeling yet feeling
Overwhelmed by racing thought

Such emptiness inside of her
Who can fill it
Who can bring passion back into her

Maybe a new love
Maybe a lost love
Maybe just a poem

Unable to find a way out
Fervently reaching
Grasping words, memories

One person can give you the world
And sometimes that same person can take it away
Is that what happened to her

A silken veil of words
Creating images deceptively pure
Hypnotic when spoken with passion's eyes
Cruel ruse

Can a poem turn your world upside down
Can a poem fill your emptiness
Can just a few words change your life completely
Is that what happened to her

Blood transfused through veins
Becoming the artist's rendition
Muse inhaled, embraced, accepted
Frail heart formed by knowing hands

Her face was an art
Her smile was like summer
And her eyes were like spring
Now the face is not an art anymore
And her smile is an autumn breeze
And her eyes cold as winter freeze

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wow nice man...like what you did with the poem

That's cool. I hadn't read it for several days and in coming back to it I still like it, too.

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No no no, this just won't do at all. Terrible. Just terrible. A few suggestions ---->

Instead of:

Such emptiness inside of her
Who can fill it
Who can bring passion back into her

Why not try:

Such emptiness inside her cupboard
Who can fill it with fat Japs?
Who can bring the keyboard-flavoured armchair back to the hairy bastard?

And instead of:

One person can give you the world
And sometimes that same person can take it away
Is that what happened to her

Try this:

One person can give you the carrot
And sometimes that same person can drive a bus
Is that what happened to her hairy bastard?

Now, here's where it gets interesting. You've written:

Blood transfused through veins
Becoming the artist's rendition
Muse inhaled, embraced, accepted
Frail heart formed by knowing hands

And here's what I've written instead:

Blood transfused through carrots
Becoming the artist's bank account
Muse inhaled, embraced, log cabin
Frail heart formed by Wesley Snipes

I also think some work is needed here:

Her face was an art
Her smile was like summer
And her eyes were like spring
Now the face is not an art anymore
And her smile is an autumn breeze
And her eyes cold as winter freeze

This is what I was thinking:

Her face was a hairy bastard
Her smile like the carrot
And her eyes were like hairy bastard anuses
Now the face is not a mushroom anymore
And her smile is a bereaved panda
And her eyes as cold as ham

I think in general the whole thing feels like it ends too abruptly. A final verse might go something like this:

There's a sound coming from my legs
It sounds almost like your voice
But mainly sounds like a hairy bastard
I loved you but you left me with no soups
Now I have to eat the memories, and they taste like ghost-farts
I'm hungry for chips, and you left me with beans
Why did you leave me? No, seriously?
The hairy bastard stabs me with the carrot
My bank manager vomits lemons into a cup
And I use them to make a boat to sail away from...MYSELF?
Yes, NOT myself,
Yes, I have no bananas.

Fuck me I'm so art it hurts.