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AlmostWhen they lowered that box with electric gears
there was no one around to weep and
struggle to breathe,
there was just empty air cutting between stones.
The snow came and I held my breath to fight the impulses
kick at the boxes and make figure drawings out of pixels;
I have to be careful not to list my dreams because
someone likes to go down with black marker and strike them off
one by one.
This time next year I’ll be different.
Were you lonely? With the trees still naked and
the grass stained yellow,
a pile of dirt and a back hoe,
a line of cars driving off.
There are things moving in my heart
and I shove most of them to the side
because I can’t love and
I can’t pick up these pieces-
I’ll make a promise for you.
tastes like ash
because all that snow-globe-glitter
loses its shine with
the extinguish of hope
maybe the scratch of fake glass
will be enough to rekindle
this falling out
or just smudge away
all the forgotten little pieces.
with cold hands you tie the laces
of the old shoes that squeeze your fat feet
and you pretend not to notice that
your toes are folded up and your ankles
are in danger of snapping
instead you watch the way the
faded fabric regards your blotchy skin
and memorize the feeling of
sticky dust between your fingers.
you used to watch yourself do acrobatic tricks in the mirror
but you don’t bend that way anymore.
thunderhe ran again
that slick july heat
burning at the back of his
hands gripped tight
on the steering wheel
((he’d hate the cliche and
i’d tell him his g-d is dead
because he believes in himself
too much and he’d laugh and
say we’re even))
when the gas runs out
he’ll pull his shoe laces
tight and run to the next
stop in his life
somewhere we can’t
ever find him or send the
text message envelopes full
of our blessings and love
((he’d say what is love and
i’d start crying and he’d grin))
FoolLet me go like
leaking out of
just a fuzzy
back our chiding
talks and wander
waiting for bright
things to dull
you're like a
So if the
I'll press away
cut for your
ask for that
Tree GirlIntrinsically I know
that the ache in
my bones will pass
so statue I stand
and become the
next tree girl.
But the birds
fall at heart beats
and broken nests
or scrambled eggs
there's too much
guilt to consume.
You cough and I
hold my breath
a scattered dance
to the wind
the rest and
pushed all the
dreams to the
You want me
to be the next
bloom but I'm
And rot sets in so fast.
All Their TalkingThey say that living is breathing but
I have evidence to the contrary
because this distilled air holds
none of the magic of falling towards
love or an abyss the depth of oceans.
If you catch the light in a bottle then
maybe you’ve found something of
living but there’s still the secret of
a beating heart and a whirring brain
to promise collapse and incline.
To say that living is breathing is
to discount all the late nights and
heady mornings that steal all
your breath away.
Don't Say ItMarch sprang to kill
and it managed death
April tried the same
but some people
aren't ready to cut
Already the snow's
gone and the taste
of fresh air leaves
to be desired.
And when it smells
like forgotten things
and ghosts are
filling the sink with
dishes you can't
do much but find
some way to
So run like there's
a fire licking your
And maybe there is.
But the blisters make
you think of childhood
swing sets and metal
slides and the slick
heat of sweaty knees.
Still there's room at the
Inn and they'll take the
cocain cash that tastes
like pixy dust so watch
their sticky fingers and
May likes to dress in
slips and slide guns
to temples like a
I. if i can make my fingers meet
my wrists then who’s to say
that my teeth won’t one
day touch the sky.
I swore on painted nails and sidewalk chalk that
the distance between your mouth and my ear was
too far to constitute a secret. So I let your guts spill
out my hands and wrapped our trust around your
neck content to watch this insipid frindship vaporize
with the condensation of your last breath.
Yet as a ghost you haunt the corners of my house
lingering between the pages of my book and where
the back of the stove meets the wall. I tried to feed you
peanuts, but you’re no circus animal.
If you were I’d peg a tranqualizer in your leg and
drag a knife across your pulse so that another
of my ghosts could go home.
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.
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.
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
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
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
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,
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
Something Coldthe buses pass by
like animals in the night time light
they look hungry and so i hurry
my steps and like skipping
records or rocks
they put me past my pace.
running is like falling is like
grazing past an old ghost
what i really mean is
a burnt out flame.
it’s getting used up
by the little birds
and the flying swallows all laugh
as i tuck my hair beneath
the belt that works so hard
to hold me together.
the smell of glue is addictive
an adhesive that catches
at every synaptic nerve
ending in your brain
where the fear likes to live.
lay low and wait
for ankles and the itch
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