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DesperationThe abandoned, recanted, re-broken
Bleeds its intellectual lies into the tears
Of its shattered spirit
Slipping slimy fingernails of weathered, bottled
Sliding from the scream-hole, the dripping
Punctured throat of integrity
Scratching the forever blind, child-eyes
Rolling languidly away from
The forgotten truthThe solid-built fortes of social constraint,
morally crumbling under the weight
of it’s own academic constipation
Built on the backs of invisibly-chained
slave-minds, subject to the whims of the
two-tone breaker of old men.
Reeking of rubberized meals
and immaturity’s poison barb
sets in the stagnant air.
The wandering refugees of intelligence
only, can understand the watchfulness,
of illogical reason.
Shadows of the pastI rewind my blindness
to forget and to remember.
The past blunders
the forever blank
In The PresentI found it in this moment
I found it in the shattered remains
Past shrouded in watery smoke.
Future sifted, in fate’s
heartwood dream catcher
and I stood, in reverence, of
the glass shell that somehow,
keeps our beauty at bay.
And wept that so little,
can bind the free.
So rise now, from the colorless pool
of the daily stress.
That morass that made laughter hide.
And rub your weary bones clean
with the scraps of ashen canvas
that belongs to what has been, only.
And throw that stress-worn, weary cloth
Yup, the world we live in is...A broken hypocrisy
stands before me.
Leaking forgotten laughter
from it’s body politic,
Outcast and outlasted
by the financial choke-chain
of the flamboyantly forgetful
and corrupted human notation.
Vocational notation such corrupt
forgotten in our vexed fixation on
our entertainment supplication.
We the re-vexed reflection of medieval
and our subconscious connection
to the publicly and punitively perceived,
truth story of our own faults.
Hold in our grimy, sausage fingers,
a perceived reflection of preempted
Such truth reflected, simultaneously
by the remaining few who can sustain,
Fathers and sonsBefore me sits a man
x-bent legs crossed
under a protruding stomach.
Eyes cast to hope
as he uses dead sand
to mould live sand
into a man.
The live sand, sculpted
by loving hands knows not
how the sculptor sculpts.
at the shifting sand.
To find insideAsleep in the lecture of the drab
professor, lucid waves of subconscious intoxication
And in a lecture of such conjecture forget
That in our blindness, bleeding, finds the
tablet that we take.
To subconsciously swallow the preachings
of this false idol.
And in dreaming,
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
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
To the BeautifulYou say we're beautiful,
Us who have been bullied...
But where were you while it was happening?
-I was watching-
You who say "This has to stop!",
There needs to be an end to this...
What are you doing to stop it?
-I did nothing-
It's too late now...
-I failed you-
of me and youthe day you stopped touching me was the day i
stopped speaking to myself. and the silence nearly killed me
LuckyYou talk like you always have a grain of salt,
to throw over your shoulder.
Every word is that hard cheese,
and they swing those whimsical wishbones much like carousels.
You're wasted on your self-image,
staggering down with rigorousness you don't own.
They're taking that steed and throwing horseshoes,
as if one of them might ring 'round your neck;
and save you from yourself.
You'll need a necropolis filled with pennies to barter,
and we won't lend a cent to save your sorry soul.
Your demons count clovers to kiss you,
gluing that fourth leaf to camouflage the truth.
They'd promise you an elephant to watch you die,
sucking sevens to keep you from entering Heaven.
And you can sing your superstitions into space,
but it's dead and empty.
Somewhat like the hollow shell you lounge in,
as the charms make you see spirits.
You say somewhere there's a rabbit dying to give its foot in your favor...
...but don't bet on it unless you can see that whites of its eyes.
Adieu InsecurityStop twisting my dispositions with those miserable eyes,
standing in the corner with your petticoats in pieces.
Your pink bow-lips beg me to bide…
…when my soul has flown the coup with your hollow vows.
You justified your presence as a gateway for humility,
but you brought me down to the dust....
...'till I couldn't even shower without shame.
Don’t swing me about with your mouth,
or surmise to breed in that bereft bedchamber.
My fingers won’t touch your filthy form,
or whisper litanies in your loquacious crevices.
You shattered this concocted cage on your own;
and now I must live outside your festering fences.
Take your pestilent pinions elsewhere, ere I rip them out,
I can look at the mirror now.
So as I fix my figurative suit, and tip my cerebral top-hat,
hold those pretty tears for some sorry soul who might care.
‘Tis not my fault I love myself more than you…my melancholy.
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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