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Addressed to Jane Doesome nights I like to tear my veins out, individually
like flower tendrils waiting to bloom and
string them up in the sun I never got to see;
violet memories, severe and sharp around the edges
like the day her eyes clouded over. blooming
purple, precious thing, nurtured by her inability to say no;
I wonder what she’d say when she saw the spaceships
steal the sky. she’d raise her bloodless palms
to the empty heavens and ask them to take her, too
(these nightmares are a self-diagnosed
expiration date, I wake to the sound
of your wildflower heart mourning my
goodbye. I still wince like there’s
a war being fought between my bones;
the history books won’t remember the way
death knelt and cleaned my canvas
skin, kissing my forehead before
abandoning me to lose in peace) dear
nameless, the numbers stamped on your wrist are not
an identity. on nights such as these, I swallow your voice
like a shot of whiskey and string myself out like you,
the porcelain savior, hollow,
softenedthe sky whispers,
ribbons of crystalline quiet,
same shade as the angel dust
you shivered every time we were
in the darkness, we were
sorry birds searching for
open dawns. you, the
swan, me, the
black as night and
just as hopeful.
and there were poems
written in your skin, universes
blooming in your hands; your eyes
were a December sunrise saving me
from any sleep.
I’ve decided that
people are a composition of
all their greatest memories—and you,
you were always the most
beautiful piece of
scraps and sacramentsyou,
beautiful siren girl with melodies
entangled in her hair: you are
shell-shocked and sea-struck
even though you cannot stand
the sensation of sand beneath
you have fingers for prying, picking,
pulling at your skin and nesting
in that hollow space between
your bones. and if anyone asks,
you will swear there are monsters
sleeping in the concaves of your ribs;
there are ghosts beneath your tongue,
embittered, and you are not the words
they say there is an answer, little girl
(sometimes you begin to believe you are
a scarecrow on the border of reality
begging people to turn the other way;
and the mirror will agree)
how far have you gone? a feather in
the breeze who won’t promise to return
again; there is a wandering warmth in
the hesitation of your harbored fear.
where will you be in six months when
the future has become itself and you
are still astray? little one, no one is like you
in the way you sway to the cadence of a
dissonant night. no one knows your
i’d tell you I hated you
if you had a voice or a face,
or any sense of tangibility aside
from the spider fingers you use
to crawl through my brain
you are not beautiful, like
all the other poets protest. you
are the red in my eye, like
a pen bled; the ragged to
my fingernails, the hitch of my breath
when it catches in my throat.
before i go, i’ll write a million letters (a million
pennies for my thoughts, bitter, embedded
under my tongue) and send them to people
i’ve never met, telling them how my eyes were blue
when i was little but now are the same gray
i’m choking on, how i am maddie and how that’s short
for a name i was never graceful enough for, how
i tell myself stories of lives i’ll never live so i
can go to sleep
because when i’m really gone, that’s all that’ll be left
(it’s funny what people
try to justify with words)
you never loved me,
you selfish thing, i wonder why
i wasted so many nights relivin
This is a Love PoemI must admit to less than innocent thoughts
about the lithe lengths of your frame
and the mysteries crowding in your eyes,
clouded over with ecstasy (or affection,
that word in the English language
forgotten in place of more life-threatening
controversies, taking value over the
fire-warmed embers of necessity and want).
We cannot be ephemeral, not when life
is the longest prison sentence I’ve been
inflicted with, and I still remember the scent
of your surreptitious skin when we
renamed conspiracies as derivations from
our [single] definitive state of unliving,
an ineffable defiance of
misery’s inevitable subjugation.
reasons why I don't fly awayabove half-hearted streetlights and industrial flooding
and vague misinterpretations, I cut
a little too deep.
it always comes to this; hungry shivers,
dry voices, heavy breaths as your eyes
fixate upon a set point in the distance
which you label as happiness, a nirvana
in plain view but too far
for your rubber legs to take you there.
back then we were theorists developing
a new frontier; we were two dreamers,
two corpses on a collision course in
the desperate season. you warned me
there weren’t enough words to say
beautiful; as it turns out, we
were a slip of the tongue.
I woke this morning
a butterfly. you would like
the sun pouring through my wings and
the feathers collecting
at the foot of my bed.
i wake up and tear the sun
from the sky like this is a
grade school art project and i
am supposed to share something
worthy of myself-- i think
there is a black hole nestled
betwixt my lonely ribs,
devouring anything alive.
on days like these, my greatest weakness
is weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.
we live by mantras and my ears ring
‘i hate every piece of me’
(he put his head to my chest
and heard me dying;
call me beautiful now)
we are the false ends of sunken
universes, we are pieces of
dead galaxies and you are
stardust, god, you are
i believe that this is all just a dream
by someone with an imagination
bigger than the word “no,” that we
are pawns in a game not worth
remembering, but when i’m with you
i never took kindly to things
that required codependency,
the uncalloused portion
of my frostbitten heart
but god, you are
RestlessI’ve been living in the same breathy dream
for too many days now; I’m bed-ridden and
stale and I reek of those moments that come
full throttle like a car crash on a winter night
this is evolution where weak hearts
are afraid of the shadows and where
an apologetic wind births no remorse;
he will move on—anchored ship
set sail, I am the sunken wreckage
that never learned how to swim.
he will move on, Darwin says
I never had a chance
I wish I were the textbook sadness,
symptom and solution and endurance
but I’ve spent too long sleeping on the
thoughts of shooting stars and gravity
and reasons, scientific calculations with
thrice-checked proofs for the skeptics
that don’t believe in the sleight of hand magic
reality wants to imply
I am not the insomniac writer with
better things to do than sleep; I am
the heavy bones afraid of what
lies in the darkness beneath
the skeletons of childhood monsters
there are no explanations, none worthy
of your contortionist spine and
sky-hungry hands, no sorrow;
this is the happy song for the happy people:
raise your paper heart to the heavens
[I wish god would take pity on me
and flood the abomination right out of my
skin, drown the impure, start new
with a dove that doesn’t know
in my head,
I’ve already left you a thousand times over.
sometimes, I wander through the streets and
idolize the living like a curious phantom
with a nonexistent pulse; sometimes, I run
desperate to the woods that seem
to breathe and mourn, where the trees
resemble bodies of people weaker than me,
and sometimes, I fly away because it turns out
the needles nestling beneath my skin
were feathers, waiting to cry out, and
I watch as your shadow dissolves
into the unsympathetic
but every time,
I come back, crawl into our weary bedsheets,
and number off your breaths until I fall
HeartlessLove is cruel
Love is ironic
Love is a tool
Love is idiotic
It defies explanation
Twisting, spiraling, leaping
How does it conquer?
How does it rule?
It crushes, it breaks
Yet still is a jewel
If you love something
You should let it go
Yet I just can’t leave
That warm, buttery glow
It strikes without warning
At first is a blessing
Then leaves us broken
Gasping and guessing
The glass is half empty
Even when half full
But I want to smash the glass
With the rage of a bull
No matter if concealed
In dress, cloak, or suit
Love will be always
The heart’s delicious fruit
It ensnares and entangles
Dripping intoxicating juice
And all the while
It tightens the noose
Whispers in your ear
Then swiftly melts away
Comes back a second later
To lead you astray
Locks you up
Then gives you the key
But you refuse to come out
Suffused with your glee
Ah, love is mystical
So what do I know?
But hear this, child
It turns friend into foe
What I want to address
Is behind that sweet
I'm a monsterWe all have little monsters in us
that whisper ugly words into our ears.
My soul is at war, it is a fight
between the human and the monster in me,
and I fear... that the monster will win.
The monster controls me...
it forces me to think the worst of others
and it tells me to isolate myself,
to protect myself from those evil humans.
The monster dictates my every move,
I must pretend that I am a human...
lest anyone think of me as a monster.
The human inside of me has long died
and the seemingly innocent person you see
is nothing but a disgusting monster
hiding in the body of another,
preying on the weaknesses -
the weaknesses of those frail humans
and feasting on their flaws.
I wanted to be human,
but I'm a monster.
And I hate myself for it.
Lore of Death~I have been known by many names
Over the course of history
In ancient Greece I was known as Thanatos
Twin brother to Hypnos
Charged with escorting the deceased
To the realm of the underworld
In Ireland I was called the dullahan
A creature with large eyes and ear to ear smile
With my head under my arm I ride to the homes
And call out those whose time had come
The Scottish believed me to be a canine
A black or dark green dog named Cų Sėth
Whose purpose was to take the souls of the dead
And deliver them to the afterlife
Hindu scripture name me Yamaraj
Riding a black buffalo and carrying a rope
I'd lasso souls to take back to Yamalok
Where they will face judgement
Common culture know me as the reaper
Cloaked in black and scythe in hand
But I only need to touch you once
For my purpose to be fulfilled
I have had many names
Many forms and appearances
But one thing has always been certain
I am inevitable and a certainty
Many have tried to bribe me
To trick me or evade me
They may have succeede
the reason for my tears?"hey. why are you sad?"
like it's as simple as
"my dog is dead"
"bunch of reasons."
i say. "it's fine"
these tears are no ones fault
he says he wont
force me to talk
i say i wish
it were warm enough to walk
and hide myself
inside the park
lay on the bench
till it gets dark
where i can let
myself be weak
and cry alone
refuse to speak
but here i'm not
supposed to be
weak in any way
i'm not aloud
to sniffle and cry
not aloud to admit
i want to die
it's my fault that
i'm crying now
i let myself
be weak some how
admit i felt
thought my mind
could have dealt
but it was too broken,
too beaten, too dead
to deal with the emotions
i hid from my head
and the tears crashed down
like a sad little creak
i'm crying because
i am weak
40. Dragonsdragon [drag-uhn]
1.) a mythical creature generally represented as a huge, winged reptile with a crested head, enormous claws and teeth and usually spouting fire.
3.) a fierce, violent person.
I am the dragon, viewed as evil by all. I have no feelings. I'm a fearsome beast, horribly vicious and bloodthirsty.
All one must do to be a hero is to slay me and save the princess.
I hoard treasure. I am a villain. The bad guy.
But what if the princess
Grew tired of her parents that never understood
Why she got upset when they insisted she marry a prince
(Who could never really love her, not properly)
And came to me with tears in her eyes?
What if I had compassion on her
I'll build you a tower.
I can protect you from bothering princes and mean grandmothers and kings and queens
And you can see the stars out your window
You will always be with me
And you will be safe.
Bleach HaikusI don't care for this.
Haikus are stupid, you too!
So I say, SCREW YOU!
- Grimmjow J.
You say you hate me?
You lie. You know you love me.
I am so awesome.
- Szayel A.G.
This is so boring~!
I wonder where Baldie is?
His head is shiny!
Um, what else to write? Um...
Ice cream with sardines!
I'm one of the last quincies.
I hate soul reapers.
I - oops! Oh, no! This is bad!
My pen broke! ...Again.
The path of Justice.
It is the path I follow.
Path with less bloodshed.
I never show you
what I'm really feeling. But
I really do care.
- Gin I.
I want to have fun!
How about we have some sake?
Let's have a good time!
You always left me.
Have you left for the last time?
I am so confused.
I don't understand.
These emotions you speak of.
Your heart, what is it?
Inside the bruteHey flea
I wanted to tell the truth today
But before I could say a word
You ran away
I promised myself
Not to give in to the rage
But your careless behavior
Releases the monster out of the cage
And I don't know if you do it on purpose
If you want to hurt me in this way
I don't know who's the hunter
And who's the prey
But one day I'll control you
And keep you from escaping
Even if inside
The monster is scraping
I'll keep it caged
I don't know if you knew
But even if you're a flea
I love you
It's invisible, but I can hear the ticking of the clock
It's impossible, but I can feel it down my spine
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock
When oh when, will sleep be mine?
Wrap me up with cloaked mystery
Startling adventure, seducing madness, honeyed romance
Embrace me with your dreams
Nightmares attack with all your might
Brutally vicious and frightfully mean
Full of fear and thrills
Embrace the dark, no defense, no fight
Oh woe is me, just let my eyes close
Let me be seduced by the Underworld
Sucked into the black, black night
Just let my eyes close
Sleep overcome me
Old friend, visit for tea
Shake my hand and kiss me
With your stealthy lips filled with forever
Like Sleeping Beauty let me lie
Unmoving and painfully dead
A tragic romance, let me die
On a soft pillow, let me lay my head
But alas and woe
My pleas remain unheard
Advil PM, down they go
Now to bed I go, shhh not another word
comets in my head againThere are bruises on my legs again.
Maybe I tried too hard for the stars - struck hemispheres of dreaming too big - while I count one, two, three, four, five shiners on my legs, ten lookers on each arm (your jointed peals of rage) and, probably, forty-four on my heart – though it’s not like I ever counted the number of times you beat me down, before.
It never did matter if I was enough for the 16 years - or for the Escitalopram - because I was never a star jumper that could trade in comets for the cratered, disfigured life of meteors.
There are bruises on my legs again, and I think I should stop dreaming.
trapped back in time like
a sinner on something sweet;
don’t ask me to move on
kaleidoscope eyes never knew left
from right. I’m different, I’m different;
bleeding white and crying black and
flying out in a storm with paper wings)
I fell in love with a broken idol--
bruised throat and splintered fingers,
the most beautiful shade of purple
to ever fade out. He never knew
maybe I’m dumb.
maybe I forgot the way the world spins backwards
and that happy endings only come from fairytales
rewritten so that children can fall asleep.
in all my years I never quite learned
how to disappear completely,
this sickly escapism justified by the
promise of all my missing pieces:
a runaway’s prayer on shooting stars,
oh, please just take me
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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