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Piono-string whispersdar(k)ling, you left me another envelope
unsigned, but I know your fingerprints
all violet and bruised shades of remorse.
my bedroom door is bolted shut, and the rave(n)s
are calling through the keyhole.
I hear you among them,
and the li(n)es written across your face
wan(t)ing more, your greedy tongue still leaves
welts across my (f)ears. lie to me.
strangled sounds of nighttime s(l)eep their way in,
while I cover myself with shrouds and co(r)pses.
I hear you among them,
quivering with lust(s), more drunk on love
Someday I will tell you, and you will smileso
she is quavering,
deep within an iron ribcage.
her houndstooth skirts,
crisply ironed, crease,
when she folds her knees and shakes her head.
someone puts a hand on her shoulder
a girl I think I know
it's hard, sometimes
piano strings are tough chords
to break, but not quite as sturdy
as his backbone.
blonde and black flop in his face
shouting to notice him
or to forget.
I see him. Boy in black
I see you. Someday I will tell you
and maybe we'll never speak again
but we never have now.
her eyes were once rusting silver,
before she sang.
It wasn't an apology
yet I forgave her anyways.
gravel stings less than words
and I know her limbs have longed
for an adventure she can't find.
she stares off into space,
head full of swords
mouth full of poppies.
I am different.
telling anyone exactly how
is still too hard, but I think
that maybe I'm starting to tell the truth.
I am afraid of so many things.
myself most of all.
Still, the trees are thick again
like their skin
At the Bottom of the Well“Thomas?”
“Do you think anyone will ever find us?”
“Course, firefly. Everything's always found by something.”
“And button-nosed little girls.”
“I think bones are more likely.”
“The dripping has stopped.”
“'Spose the rain's stopped. Good news for us.”
“Book said the water seldom reached waist-high; there's a drain somewhere in the cracks of the cobblestones, water seeping away to fill the earth with life.”
“Are you quoting him?”
“I need the practice! Your language is so...infuriating!”
“And you've been reading!”
“Listening to Bane, actually.”
“Right. If we weren't already down a soppin' well, I'd put you in the corner.”
“I wish I'd seen the last sunrise. That's something I'm supposed to miss, yes?”
“If you say so, firefl
My mother, the moon.the moon is devoured;
a gradual consumption
of the eggyolk that was once
Now, a citrus segment,
a cantaloupe grin,
a sliver of a peel
the sun is cut off
from one more
of our solar system.
Yet, the moon's handmaidens
are muses; goddesses
of cheesewheels, more than we
could dare to dream of.
the moon is gone.
the shadows leap up
to claim the space between,
as I dance the dance of
the Lorialets. I twirl
as neolithic women
once did, reaching up
to the emptiness with a plea:
see me wax
with the harvest
and the snows.
I heard you stop and I wished you would stopshe stopped living in a holding pattern
because change is painful, tendons and ligaments
stretch so gnawingly slowly, but change will always come
because it is already here. her hair is already blonder,
and her shoulders slightly straighter,
and her thoughts a little bit faster.
she stopped caring for small things
because daddylonglegs tear easier
than she can mend them, and book projects
tend to devour the hours meant for sleeping.
her hands clench at textbooks that crumble under strain,
and the cats at her window yowl for her to join them.
she stopped crying for her friends. it happened slowly,
with birthday parties and satires, and no one
saw it happen. one night, she simply opened up
consumed her own split ends, and swallowed them.
she needs more, but she cannot trust anyone enough
to bear her own burden.
she stopped, in the middle of a silent thoroughfare,
at 2 am on a Sunday night with radio towers winking in the distance.
she breathed in diesel and mustard flower,
before she uns
Conversations you were not meant to hearShe tied her tongue
so the holy water wouldn't leak out.
No one wants to hear her say she is not happy,
so she veils her heaven-blue eyes
and feeds soup to homeless men.
All of them gather
like ravens on a telephone wire,
to clack disapproval, while magpies
dressed in prism-feathers, look up,
and shake their heads.
A rag-doll rose scrawls on the walls,
painting letters she cannot say;
how boys laugh and holler at the second story,
to the women who lock their windows at night.
sprouted my hazel irises.
Green and amber
over a round, white, seed.
of teak trickle down
my field of vision, like light
through aspen groves.
left me with a moldy welt
in my pupil; with crimson
right below my lids.
will pass, and the leaves will fall
like cascades of color, but my
will be a forever murky midsummer.
The pull of gravityit looks like there is a planet
lodged in her belly.
a womb for a world slowly drawing itself together
until it rockets out into the open atmosphere.
She is the sun, and her child
You would be a wolf if your eyes weren't greyshe flickers
then settles for the same old
stale air she's breathed before.
rivers run in rivulets
downstream through my veins.
they never know to watch for the floods
because my lips dry so swiftly.
up in the threads of her eyes
and she could not bear to seek me out.
here is a wild one
her howls go unanswered
against the backlight of a radiant moon.
the fog shudders as she wraps her arms around it.
out a retort that could not hide her doubt.
sometimes it feels like she hears me hear her.
know what the hills were born from
the heaving that birthed sloping forms
further curving into a body that would one day
submit to the sun and let itself be loved.
one that I hope she can follow
back to the moon where she can howl.
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
You Ever Felt ItHave you ever felt it?
When you lay there broken
And feel yourself so guilty
Eyes gushing red
And you want to sleep in a coma
Your brain swelling with thoughts
At the same time empty with nothing
When you can't suit yourself
And see yourself a place among the demons
that moment when you control your life
The moment when you choose between life and death
And then you yourself can decide either way
It's when you're on the edge
And want someone to pull you back before you make another step
A hook, to rip all the insanity out of your body
And suck all the madness that is growing black dead trees
Have you ever felt it, have you known depression
Did you ever seek a source of help, and did you ever find it
1:33 amto the angry young
hungry ocean eyes:
i do not wish to know
what crawled inside
your ribs to
i just wish you would
let it leave.
GravelYou always laugh
Like the world owes you nothing
But joy and sun-pickled roses.
You always smile
As though the adventure were just over the next rise.
You always talk
like nothing matters except living and loving living.
But now I know the truth
Behind the closed doors in your mind.
Seeming tall and strong before me
Crackling at my touch.
The first day you laughed at me
Bitter words resting on your tongue.
The first day you smiled at me
The strain clenching your features.
The first day you turned your back on me
I knew how much it hurt
To be alone in a crowded room.
To wait for an adventure that would never come.
To stumble and stammer when you know the answer.
I wanted to help you.
But you didn't want my help.
Not a shoulder to cry on
A punching-bag to lay upon all you woes, all your pent-up
Not a friend.
I tried to pick you up when you hit the pavement,
But you laughed it off
And made a joke at my expense.
I am lucky.
I love and at least believe I am loved.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More