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ReflectingSo, when did we become strangers,
did you forget my face?
Do you know-
of course you don't, but do you know-
that I miss you,
I remember the fun times,
stupidity of our days together,
I still think of you
and the family;
and even that silly little crush
did you forget?
do you hide it away like a forgotten
because, on the inside,
you're too ashamed to admit,
you're not who you wanted
ObligationsWhat are these trinkets to me?
Obligations held to
Obligations tied in the mire
of a past quickly fading,
Why should I subject myself
To your tedious obligations,
To your restrictions,
in weighted shackles?
So I say,
What are these obligations to me,
Except things to be misplaced,
And gather the Dust of Bitterness?
I say they're ties,
and that I'm going to cut them away.
Why should I submit myself to
when you rejected my Love?
Cotton candy skiesAnd you know the pain:
You see it
can feel it,
Written over every orifice of the world,
Let it eat away at your soul as you watch
Your vapidly sentient
Capacity for action
Eroding away with every cell
This virus infects.
So you run,
Turn to apathy
And sit looking at the
Cotton candy clouds
A midst a burning backdrop,
And you hide this pain,
Like it doesn't exist--
Not in you
nor the world
nor in the minds of people
that you can see living it every
You run to the emptiness of pleciboed
Living on the internet,
Indulging in fantasy and pretend,
Living as if
still a child in Wonderland,
Forgetting you need to breathe air.
Yes you sit before a burning
Backdrop, a prelude to the end
of cotton candy skies,
And repress the existence
of this reality in-leu of
of the semblance of
Can I [part 1]Can I love you?
Can we take it back
in the dead of night-
To the way you'd
Can we take it back-
back to the iridescence that shown
in our eyes as we
lay back in the dark,
Can I love you?
Can I listen again,
To that mellifluous tone
That escapes your lips when you speak?
Can we rewind to when
I meant something to you-
when you weren't just pretending,
when I wasn't
just there for your personal
Can I love the way you used me-
-how the morning light was like
the lock to a treasure chest,
and the treasure it contained
Like just one more instrument
To be finley played-
the smiles we had glanced
across the table at dinner,
speaking our language,
our hushed tones igniting
quirked eyebrows from the others
and our own hard-silenced snickers.
Can I love you,
in this dark feeling,
lying here drowning in the quick-sand
while I try to fall asleep,
Can I love you,
when the scorched sun br
This autogenous iniquity-
the cacophony of sin
It bites and
Your antiquated conduct
shall find no place
In this world,
No rest inside these bounds.
Go on then,
Cry your heart to pieces-
and lacerate your soul.
Soft, to the degree of
Incising upon that inner you,
That softness with which
Your mortal soul now burns,
Dirtied with that softness,
Tender-hearted pain of empathy,
soft and hush
As it reverberates through your
As you feel your failings
each claiming a piece of you
with more rapidity than
Let the tears come-
so soft so soft-
and burn an antiquated brand,
deep into your soul.
As the empathetic scars
Breed lace into your heart.
For whatever has been done-
no man controls the past so let it
Now let it lie,
Be it burning with the
Assignment TwoA suitable grad-gift.
Wrapped in expected 'congrats!' tissue
paper, extended in love from the hands of a friend.
But, it isn't just a picture frame-
Special, because the hand-spun-silk, woven-cotton-soft
In brilliant crimson holds the pictures
You, and me, your smile so ambiguous,
Like the Cheshire's grin.
assignment oneLove is a hurricane,
inside your irises.
An acrid storm,
Exploding within your eyes.
Love is soft
even. Malliable when in
a sculptor's hands,
Such as your own.
So like the shifting water:
Frozen to solid,
Melted to liquid,
Or released as vapor.
Love is an idea,
Transparency that transgresses
The BeachThe beach is cold and stings
As dainty little feet walk across the sands,
That time has been unable to mar.
The sun is just a glow over the
Mist hangs in the air, footprints are left in the sand.
Nothing has changed.
The world could be thrown into darkness,
Buildings could crumble, people could die,
Or a job could be lost,
Or a house need repainting. It could be
A family argument, and tension among friends.
It could be the shadow in the doorway, a knife in it's hand,
Haunting your dreams again.
But the sands on the beach would still be unmarred by the
Cruel hands of time.
His love in you would be a butterfly of hope,
As the world was ending. His embrace
Would be a comfort in the midst of the dead.
The lost job will roll off his shoulders,
As he cracks a joke to make you laugh, because,
He lives for your laugh.
And he'd make a game, of the trivial task of house
Work, so that even though you both hated it,
It would be time you'd be together.
The family argument he would
The Adjustment BeauroI doubt you'll ever understand,
Just how worthless,
You make me feel.
You leave me with,
After each segment ends.
Maybe it's your nature,
Maybe the 'Adjustment
Beauro' just decided
We shouldn't be a we,
But you'll never understand
One way or another.
So I guess
I'll let you rip me apart.
I'm not good for anything else.
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.
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
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
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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