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I remember you, the night's I felt the yearning denied,
the way I shouted, the way I cried, the intensity it wanted to beat inside,
so long, so often, an empty house, an empty soul,
a way to breathe, a way to grow old, a way to seethe, a way to grow.
I dreampt of the flower, I couldn't hold, I cherished every tear,
that I could feel drip through my fingers,
Sadness meant I felt something, so much, so far, so strong,
I couldn't, I can't, how can you explain?
The kind of irradiation of the heart,
thousands of degrees,
and the sun is no equal,
nor is the mystery of the moon.
I wonder now, as the entirety comes to bear,
through me, clutching at my hair,
this cage around my heart beckons,
with rusted bars, and thick steel locks.
I wish there were a way to breathe,
out from thousands of misdirections, and lost causes,
the greatest yearning I've ever felt,
holding a bleeding heart in my hand.
I caress this thought, try and remember that sound,
hold the barest, smallest, f
Every lie I've ever wantedEvery lie I've ever wanted
Has come from deep inside
every hope ever encountered, ever smile ever countered, rebounding glares off the walls are offered, pacifying words are pilfered, our language is smothered in kerosene and cyanide gathered in cigarette burns, we walk witless and injured.
Nothing quite so hideous as a lie unfiltered, debauched jagged reality, defying leaps of integrity into that grand unknown, the truth not shown, dice shaken, tossed and thrown.
Our brains scattered, debased, defunct and strewn about the floor, the remains of a half-assed score without hesitation, a life half lived unworthy of recitation, recounting nothing and blinding empty light unshaken, a life like sizzling twitching twisting bacon.
Life is not an invariable constant remaining unchanged, unrestrained. There's more to the story than what's broken, busted and banged. The greatest entropy is a mind deranged, hopeless perspective in a cage, caught in a maze. There's better ways t
LifeHow do I break this part
The part that yearns like blood from an open wound
bleeding, making the literature of pain visible for all to see
reflected pools staining the bathroom tiles, and the sink dirty with
makeup, and hair, and the disgusting residue of misspent consent.
The part that watches, from leagues away, in the great emptiness where
all that's said, all that can be is a lasting sigh... where the words live, and lie -
down like a beaten body, surrendered to the weight of hammers,
striking the pounding truth of nails, bolts and mirrors.
The part that examines, a lasting impression on the moon, blown away
by the wind, the ever lasting wind of gravity, and the turning of celestial bodies
where all combines, collects, erases... the evidence of reality
from ever seeing destitute hopes and dreams ending, one pin, or penny, drop at a time.
The part that cries out, slams their fist, the hurting alone is enough
to silence and restrict, restrain, oh how that sounds s
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.
if you want to give someone the silent treatment,
the first step is shutting up.
things made much more sense
when I was younger.
I thought there was one path,
each choice a stepping stone upon it.
in reality there are a million roads
intertwined like rope.
I got lost
I chose you.
promises are easily broken.
I knew that,
but it still hurt
spending friday night
shivering in the rain,
choking on cannabis perfume
in a dirt parking lot
your face never graced.
and I hoped against hope
you might appear,
but I wasted my wishing
on ungrateful you.
you died before taking your first breath.
I took a chance
and I should've known better.
you can give somebody all you have
and nothing can stop them from
throwing it away.
you've made this bed,
now lie in it.
you slit this suture,
you're the goddamn reason
I gave up on the month of april,
and soon enough you'll fall on your own blade
like some drunken samurai.
if you want
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
Our Weight and RopesYour life, little flower
like a snake
from a can
lungs not ready
you hit the air
it hit you
months too early
this life on earth
and its lightning
hit and burnt
nothing about you
was anywhere near
and ever so luckily
your wings were
slow to form too
as it was all
we could do
were barely enough
to keep you
from floating away
pulled back inside
and years later
we're the ones
of me and youthe day you stopped touching me was the day i
stopped speaking to myself. and the silence nearly killed me
ReleaseA taste.of what never was real,seen through blury eyes from the shadows
I saw what i wanted,but not what ever was,it was an illusion that took my breath away
My own distorted view from a distance,tunnel vision,all followed by a bad decision
It resonated sourly on my tongue,what a contradiction from the sweet taste it left on my lips
And as i swallowed,my pride went down the like the rock that was left sitting in my stomach
Heavy is the burden of what we always think we see,as we reach out to hold it tight,it slips through our fingers
It cant be held,the more i cling,the more it slips away like sand
To leave it where it is,right there,to stop carrying the weight of ghosts that should weigh nothing
funny they seem heavy only when i wont let them die and stay dead
I smell the truth on the warm breeze lately,life,connection,slowly the sleeping world is awakening
And with it is a nostalgic feeling to hold on,but there is nothing to hold onto
As soon as it all began it was all just a m
A cure for hateA cure for hate
Is ascension, contaminate the sickness with the light of archons
and angels gleaming from the inside of our throats.
Twisting our lies, into the flies spewing forth
with rainbow lice burrowing deep into the black ice.
Is a moment of disbelief, stricken on our faces,
as the immutable stone turns to ivory mirrors,
we see the conditions collapsing around us
decay, and the brutal decisions to coerce doves into vultures.
Is realization, collecting in our dustpans,
sweeping up the cooking oil splashed on the floor,
left over from a bubble bursting like a pinata,
blinking and open mouths swallow entire rabbits.
Is a well spring, yearning forth from the divide,
the connection that fills with butterflies fluttering
ignoring the swarms only to rise above the mess,
and weaving a tapestry of shining threads in the sky.
A cure for hate is only to turn around and look
gaze and see the ruin of crushed flowers,
putrescant smell, and have the unnatural urge
by the grace of gre
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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