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Something tells me that
If you knew I was there
You wouldn't have done
All those amazing things
And if you knew just how
Amazing you really are
The world would cease moving
For just one second
You inspire more
Than you'd like to admit
And it scares you how
So many people are moved
By simple words than actions
Acknowldege your greatness
So the world will end
And begin anew
So I can see your words
For the first time
Rhyme yourself out of this one
It hurts, doesn't it?
"You're going to get poisoned that way." she warned half-heartedly as I chewed on the HB pencil in my hand.
"What kind of poisoning? Lead? Wood? It's all the same to me. Death is inevitable, so why not rush the trip?" I replied.
"What's your damage anyhow? You weren't like this before."
"I think you mean to say 'What's NOT my damage?', darling." I glanced over at her, standing over me. Her green sweater and plaid skirt blended well, almost camouflaging her as normal. I couldn't help but glance up at her chest and then back down to the paper in front of me.
"Skeletons." I muttered and jabbed at the sketch lightly.
"Skeletons, they're just skeletons until I make them something else."
"Sort of like us, eh?" she chuckled, and as she did, I noticed her eyes for the first time in a long while, a bright hazel. They were usually behind her glasses and I'd never cared to look at them as I always had my nose either in a book or over a picture I was drawing.
"What do you mean?"
Do You Ever Feel This Way?
He sat there in his chair, calm and in deep thought, clutching his instruments, tapping them on his teeth. The clicking echoed throughout the dankness.
"What to do with a pretty like you..." he said softly, almost mute.
She couldn't hear him, and even if she could, what good would it do her? She couldn't escape, she was his now, to do with as he pleased.
"I could cut you into little pieces." he murmured and smiled as the word 'pieces' exited, arousing him a bit, he breathed in the scent of the room, stale and a bit musty.
Her predecessors lay around, mangled, maimed, and in various states of decay. One lay in the corner, her spine bent in half and twisted out of shape. Another, drenched by the water dripping from the ceiling's pipes, most only had bits and pieces left behind, a testament to those who came after. A warning of sorts.
"I'm at a loss." he whispered, as he rubbed his temples slowly, trying to ease the pain behind his eyes. It stung and he just wanted it to go away, but he k
He woke up, blurry eyed and dry mouthed, like he was re-born. He scratched his dark brown hair, and glared blindly at the clock in front of him, it was half past seven in the evening.
"Dammit." he mumbled, his voice scratching his throat.
He reached down to the floor and pulled his cel phone from his pocket of his faded blue jeans. The antenna was caught, he furiously pulled and yanked until one of the two objects gave in. He checked his messages, and turned to look behind him. She was gone. She had either left during the early afternoon or late morning, at any rate, he didn't care. She was just another girl, another notch in his belt. The phone rang, vibrating in his hand, he took it and put it under his pillow, he felt like talking to nobody. He had spent the last of his paycheck on a bottle of rum and a pack of cigarettes, both of which, were almost empty.
"Fuck." he shouted, at the half of his lungs, as he searched for his missing sock, fumbling beneath his bed.
He heard cars pass
Harry Sanders was a quiet fellow of low regard. His socks were always mismatched. His tie always had stains of mustard and gravy on them. He made it a point to wear sneakers to office meetings, and on 'Casual Friday' he wore his pyjamas. His hair, a dull grey, was always greased back, making the creases on his forehead more noticable. His glasses were always slung around, what appeared to be, his neck. His nose, which was his most prominent feature, was always stuck behind either a handkerchief, a file, or a book. His beady, sunken, brown eyes never seemed to move from their forward position, except to catch a glimpse of the temporary secretary bending over to pick up arrant paperclips.
Harry was by no means a deviant, or by no means normal. He was just Harry.
One warm and quiet Sunday afternoon, Harry took his dog, Mortimer, to the park. It had been a very busy week at the office, and Harry had, not so much avoided, but forgot, about poor, old Mortimer. Mortimer was a daschund, ten ye
Elevator by -Senor-
James stood in the corner of the elevator, chewing on one of his many unsharpened pencils. He felt rather warm in his charcoal suit, and nearly strangled by the navy blue neck tie. His hair was gelled down to keep the rooster tail from flying up, and his chocolate brown eyes were focused on nothing. The HB rolled on his tongue, the lead seeping into his system, and the paint, chipping ever so slightly, managed to make it's presence known on his tongue. He had always ridden the elevator to calm his nerves after a service, especially since this one, would be his last.
The thought had crossed his mind over the week leading up to his final eulogy. He found many similarities in the job he did and his eulogies. He constantly spoke of being in a better place, moving on, remembering fondly, and of course, that you'll never be forgotten. He always said that, and though you believed it, to him, it was just routine. The words had begun to lose meaning, like when he first said 'I love you.' But,
You Make Me
You Make Me
I wake up and think
Of all the things you've done for me
You've made the world a better place
For us to live in
And though your day
Might not have gone exactly like you planned
I'm tired of gettin' all the time
So I'll start givin'
It's time I told you
All the things you make me do
You make me
You make me feel like it's always spring
You make me
You make me wanna give up everything
Sure it may sound
Kind of cliche but honey
That's how you make me feel
And I ain't ever gonna stop
I feel like
The World's at my command
I've got you by my side and
We're standing up on top
You wanna know, just what you can do
Bring a man down, make him worship you
You make me
You make me think of you all day long
You make me write stupid love songs
Although I really can't complain
You've got my heart, my soul, my brain
You make me wanna run around the world
You make me wanna make you my girl
You make me feel like I'm on cloud nine
You make me f
for Nyssi by Senor
So I may not be there
But I am in a way
I'm there in your heart
And it's there that I'll stay
The memories of you two
Though the thought of it all
Causes you so much pain
I want to help you
Get rid of the hurt
Pick the shards up
From the love stained dirt
Glue it together,
It will feel all anew
But a piece is still missing
It was taken from you
Though it can't be put back
You can try, fill the space
You'll not feel the same
With that piece out of place
I'll help fill it,
So will others too
Your friends and family
Here, to love you
Though you heart may be broken,
And life seems like a bitch
You'll never be poor
All your friends, make you rich
They Arent The Same
I'd only known you a few days
But it's felt like an eternity
And it shocks me that someone would care
Especially you, of all people
But you said 'Hello.' You started it.
Ever since that day, that time I said it.
'I Love You.'
Well, maybe I didn't say those exact words,
But what I said was close, and that's all
It's been said, and now, I feel better.
Life is grand, I can't stop smiling
You've done this to me, and I can't complain
Because this feeling I have, I've never felt
So it must be love, or misguided lust.
At any rate, I love you, and you know.
But, you told me you don't feel the same
You hurt inside, you don't want to love
So, it's not me, but still, I feel it's my fault
I don't regret saying it, but you...
I've never said it to anyone else before.
No words so pure were uttered, so innocent
My love for you is still alive, but it's changed
I still love you, but as a friend, and I'll take that
I'd rather you a friend, than never entering my life
But now, the words don't mean the sa
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
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.
I've ForgottenWhen she died
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
love didn't matter, but home was with youi.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebushes that
were too stained to be called
me that sometimes
love doesn't matter, and
i (did)n't want to
you asked me once if anything
mattered, a lighter
gracing one hand and a
cigarette lining your
lips. i wasn't
sure back then
and i don't know
if i am now
(but i think i want to say yes).
my body never felt
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
Diamond TearIn silence
I observe them
Laughing and having fun
While I'm in my corner
I feel out of place
I don't belong here
So I leave
And no one notices
Now I'm out on the street
A dark and silent one
Enjoying the breeze
Lost in my thoughts
Suddenly I hear a sob
And I look around
I see a girl
Sitting on a bench
A single diamond tear
Running down her face
I don't know her
No one else is around
I could just leave
But I can't
So I sit by her side and ask
Without looking her in the eyes
For a moment
And then she takes my hand
And we look
Into each other's eyes
And she whispers
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
SafeI clasped my hand tight shut around my mothers.
I was a possessive oyster wrapped around pearly fingers
bitten white by the freshly whisked air.
We braced ourselves against the frozen metal frames
that, although unmovable by infantile hands,
were not a substantial enough barrier against a tempest.
The sea lashed out its limbs in a fury
and the sky’s face paled grey with worry
at what that grasping anger might achieve.
It rose to greet us, stood on mighty churning haunches
and collapsed heavily around our shoulders
with the dramatic violence of a dancer
crashing down upon a splintered Tibia.
It drenched us, filling mouths and ears with water.
My mother’s hand squeezed mine, comforting,
and as the sea drew back again,
preparing to strike out at us over and over
until its very exhaustion point – and over once more –
As it readied itself to slash our raincoats,
with the force of an evening spiralling into true darkness,
over and over –
for a moment the smell o
Oxtails (Collab w/ TwilightPoetess)Somewhere between oxen and orchid,
where cattails and foxgloves wilt and weep
at the parting of another fleeing day
and stormed cloud-castles mutiny
against the weight of the rocksalt moon;
somewhere between flightless and fading,
where faery circles and dandelion crowns fall--
somewhere, beneath bark mosaiced with age,
you will siphon the remains of my heart--
churned smooth by false hope’s abuse--
into dehydrated dirt that groans for it.
I will clot the crumbling veins of anthills
with the iron debris that was once us,
until I become orchid or foxglove once more.
I am a Dante in a world of Shannen Hamiltons
And though I'm not supposed to be here today
I'm trying to see a sailboat, blinded by chocolate pretzels
And I'm a tracer
I trace the past to make myself a future prophet
I am an ungifted muse
And the angels and demons play hockey with my heart on the roof
While the stench of shoe polish lingers like a dense fog
And I search
I search for a stolen monkey that's neither mine or hers
What to do? Where to go?
When did my Alyssa become a Caitlin Bree?
The topless psychic didn't tell me this would happen
What do you think Silent Bob?
And I thought "callow" was a good thing...
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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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