The remark above was intended as a reply to Nicholas Jones' stern reproof. It seems a bit de trop where it is now. Blame the site software.

For the rest of my life, my spleen vents will be blocked at the source when in the presence of irritating fellow beings, because I will be so ashamed to be annoyed, when there is no possibility whatsoever that I would be able to make such a brilliant poem out of the experience as you have, that my spleen will just crust over and dry up. Eventually I will probably die from internal spleen blockage. So thanks a lot.

A great poem. Like one of the old ballads, striking, dreamlike imagery, full of love and death. I like the repition of the 'thirty times' theme. The mermaid pulling her hair in anger and then disappearing is not a picture I'll forget, or Satan saying 'pooh-pooh', or the one year old child riding on the back of the storm, snatching the last page of the diary from the wind and singing it. Like something by William Blake.

very very very funny. I've never laughed this much while reading a poem before. Not that I actually laughed 'out loud' this time either, but I did what I seem to do when I sit in a room by myself and then read something funny: which is to laugh visibly but silently, probably giving the impression that I'm trying to cough up a furball.

I think the whole thing is good until the line 'I was so selfish ...' The first two verses were't whiney, they were kind of dispassionate reports, in striking and concrete language, of feelings that we've all had. 'I can feel the devil blowing his disease into my ear' and 'I feel so sick, I feel like this bed could be my grave and I could feel comfortable in it' remind me of old blues lyrics, there's the faint sense of self-mockery mixed with the genuine emotion, and I like that. Can the bit about girls being mean and your poor sensitive skin being pierced, and being a prince.

This is a great poem, it actually means something, unlike most of the solipstistic bullshit on this site. You must have a daughter yourself to understand this. However, you've left out a 'to' - it should be 'too young to see the lesson'.

This reminds me of those very detailed fairy tale paintings on the lids of boxes, done in Russia. Magical and very pretty. But since when do birds have lips?

Great narrative drive. Rhyme structure primitive, but inventive and witty language - "Perhaps it worked; perhaps 'twas luck.
In truth, I do not give a fucke." or "So, just like her in Paradise,
Who, also nude, and prone to vice,
Did gorge herself on wicked fruit
And shew her shameful birthday suit" to name two personal favourites - but really the memorable lines are too many to quote here. But perhaps most compelling is the tremendous moral message: so much modern verse gives us no more than pallid whining about love. Dark Angel really gets to grips with the big issues. So to speak. And the ending is worthy of Poe, though let down a trifle by the final 'Nooooo' which adds an incongruously Simpsonesque note. Dark Angel's work is becoming increasingly mature; this reviewer looks forward to his next, even riper, offering.

Has this been tested for whether the size of the bite makes any difference. I mean, is greediness a factor?