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ButcherMeat before your knife
Skinned and waiting to be sliced
Hoping you will cut me down instead of up.
With strokes both careless and precise
The blood - the blood that stains your knife
I would have given you my life,
But you have taken more.
Rosemary For RemembranceHer hands in the water
She re members the freck le s o n his
As th e wo r d s d ra g h e r
Get t he e to a n u n n er y
G E T T H E E T O A N U N N E R Y
BelovedI should be stronger for you Dear,
Not dieing in the darkness here,
Rotting from the inside out
Devoured by my fear.
I'de be a shining star for you,
A broken satellite
Burning off her energy
To guide you through the night,
But all I do is gaurd the gate
And keep its doors thrown wide
In hopes you will return to me
While darkness slips inside.
And how it storms the parapets
And shakes my every stone
and echoes through my hallways,
Child, you are so alone.
You are waiting for a ghost
that will not come again.
Nothing is outside your walls,
And Nothings coming in.
Are you a prisoner or a fool
Who stays yet trembles so,
Cloistered in these crubling walls
Unable to let go?
For cowardice we mock you.
Upon your strength we feed,
And if you hear his cries outside
You should not pay them heed,
For they are nothing but the wind
That whistles in the still,
And if your house is empty,
Then we are here to fill.
And if your heart is heavy,
Then we can take that too.
There's lots of things
P.S.Swan feathers brushing
Pink lemonade stratosphere,
Pallid moon mirroring
A smeared staring sun,
As Fenrir snarls and stretches,
Slinking silently skyward.
I do not mind the feeling of icy water
In the morning on dry, chapped hands,
The scrubbing of bowls and pots with sand
In the pale autumn light.
These are the clean discomforts of life lived,
And sun warmed stones and star soaked nights can make amends
Say amen to the prayers that such days could last forever.
But I am answered never never again.
And there the knife sinks deep
As the past is waked from sleep,
Defiant and pounding its fists in anger
But the leaves of today leave concern from their color,
As bright with me as without they do not dignify my dolor
With pity for the memory
Of what makes one day full and one day empty.
"Fool," they say "All things must die in time,"
And so I stand stripped bare beneath the sky,
Inhaling wood smoke wafting in the wind,
And feel all Nature's life come to an end.
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
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
Die AloneI take apart her heart
And lay the pieces down
In a circular form.
Let her bleed a work of art.
I forgot I’m crazy.
I’ll whisper my secrets
Only if she promises
To die here alone with me.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?
They ask it like a dare.
As if letting your unlikely dreams
slip from the safety of your mind
could bring their own
a little closer to reality.
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in modern art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
RelativityLooking in the mirror
through the mirror
seeing a stranger,
My chest swells and my heart lurches
This girl isn't me, not at all
She looks like someone
but not me.
A movie star, a homeless person.
Even when I look at photos
no memory comes up
no allowing for the thought that I have a body
Or that the cold of my fingertips,
the throb of anxiety inside my ribs
I see my arm, an armband
A scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaning
But it did, to this girl in the mirror
Even if memory fails
Existence is relative
Dizzy Girl,you can't cure sorrow. The drops
on the windshield are swallowed
by this traffic's color and you
are just the driver.
Other people pass
with paint blearing,
though I do wish
there was an ending,
questions spark in halos
of low street lamps as you veer
toward the center,
recollections are ceaseless.
She will be at your left and the gust
through the tinted window
will be humid,
you taste her last spirit
in the smoke and
What Writers AreWriters are people from
both ends of the spectrum.
Those that know isolation
and the thoughts that follow.
Those that know enlightenment.
And those with nowhere else to go,
but deeper down the rabbit hole.
Writers are smiths of the word,
using imagination, experience,
and emotions to temper the
glass and steel we are given.
We fill the page with pieces
And writers are Gods.
Broken or whole or
barely scraping through.
We make you see our world.
We make you feel and care.
All with a bunch of lines,
which we have given life.
Keep in Touch!
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