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NocturnalWrapped up tight by my own wings,
I hang upside down
while the blood rushes to my head
inside my cobwebbed cocoon,
Ultraviolet rays flicker against my eyelids
in colors I have never seen,
yet maybe I have once before,
I saw them the first time your skin brushed mine,
a kaleidoscope of solar energy
making me blind enough to see the light,
Your voice now echoing in a frequency
only I can hear,
it ricochets through my thin bat bones,
lingering along my teeth
so I can taste the way you sound
along the backside of my cavity,
But now you've been bitten
because I have no control,
my incisors sinking in to your handsome heart
because you are ripened fruit
in the dead of Winter
and I am a parasite
in Summer's wake,
If only the day ever met the night
maybe we could meet again,
but for now this must be enough,
so I return to the shelter of my own wings
to protect myself from the sun
and your own astrological luminosity.
I let the water take controlIt's been awhile since I've been underwater,
so I drew myself a bath
and let the water rush itself into the tub
like blood to the brain,
as it pooled into the fiberglass basin
I felt the tides start to rise
while the pond I created began to
encase every limb,
my lips brushed against the water
in a liquidated kiss
and my blonde locks melted into the sea
as if my name were Medusa and
my strands of hair were snakes,
but my body dissolved into what it used to be,
I became the water and the water became me.
And I will Always be the MoonWe have gotten so attached to these days and these months,
but a deer doesn't know a Tuesday from a Thursday
and a caribou can't comprehend that it was born on a September afternoon,
but they can understand this instant, this moment, this breath,
only now, no longer the past, and only the future when they get there,
there's a healthy lack of awareness in that,
escaping the fear of death but thriving off the instinct to live,
everything so primal and based off gut reactions,
I guess you could say ignorance is bliss,
but ignorance only actually applies when it comes to humanity,
oh I would like a life like that,
one that is organic, tangible, and ripe with bloody berries,
one where carnal creatures run rampant,
one where we rise from the dirt with muddy thighs
because we were bred into these earthly bodies
to hold seconds in our palms like newborn children,
and to throw our heads back and howl against the awareness that we are dying,
for oh this skin is only our host,
The CatalystI have thoughts
but I never think.
Underestimation of your affection,
of your jealousy,
I, a breaching whale who breathed too deep.
Like bubble wrap
the air pockets in my lungs are pop, pop, popping;
I am nothing if not lonely air.
My thoughtless mind
so driven by my gullible heart,
too quick to believe you could ever love me
at least the way I love you,
But is this love if I am bleeding?
Your carnivore's touch,
your narcotic smile;
catalysts in my river of veins.
PleaseI am consumed by a love concocted of carnivals, carousels, and the color green.
My heart beats to the sound of the circus but if I were a lion, you could not tame me.
I want to be wild and free with you, feel you, feel your thoroughbred horse skin over muscle,
then muscle against bone until we are running with our backs to the neon lights,
moving through time in a space of supernovas,
completely unbridled movement of hips and hooves and heavenly angels,
then it's your firefly wings burning through me like a Saturday night fever
and I'm sweltering under your touch,
but my love for you is strange
because as you hold me with empty arms,
I realize that I have been writing passionate poems
about days that were never ours
and moments that I only wished.
So God if you can hear me
please let me have him
or at least give me the strength to move on.
the story of a girl made of fire and of bloodThat red dress flowing at her ankles like blood,
rippling against her river thin frame of fire,
she is burning, burning so bloody,
she sweats and she cries and she falls to the ground,
but her eyes dance in the flickering flames
and her heart skips when his voice catches on her pastry flake flesh,
his voice lingers there, rests, soul upon skin, sin upon sin,
her body cooked tender.
I am done listening to youOh sweet darling, don't worry about me,
I've gone and figured out who I am,
a rabbit told me, whispered it in my ear,
he said that if I wanted to be free that I had to let go,
so I did,
loose ends and loose grips,
your fingers slip off of me too easily,
now guess what,
I am done, I am done, I am done,
it's been too long since I felt love for myself
so I don't need you to tell me that I am pretty
or to give me the satisfaction of your attention,
I just need to tell myself that I am as beautiful as the baby dragonflies
that hover over the ocean of blood inside my heart,
and that I am as ageless as dinosaurs breathing
and coming back to life.
a taxidermy fawn,
existing yet comatose,
my soul flickers within a lantern,
releasing a smoke with the scent of
pheromones and vanilla verbena,
but your necromantic whispers
linger in my ears,
so sweet and succulent as peaches,
give me breath,
filling my lungs upon a full moon,
oh i'd so like to take a bite of you,
you and your jungle bred lips,
tropical to taste,
organic to kiss,
jaguar, leopard spots
cover your skin
in patterns painted by the forest,
then a low, throaty growl
slips from your jaw,
haunting me like a past mistake,
but you are wild bamboo
and the sound of my heart beating,
palpitating against soft winters,
pulsing with the rhythm of summer,
for some reason you suit me
in all seasons,
and like gravity
you hold me
so no, i cannot escape you,
for no one can bypass
an autumnal equinox
or an eclipse of the sun,
you only continue to
kindle the flames
you used my wooden ribs to make
and i truly love
that searing sensation in my gut,
The boy who swallowed a tempestShe once loved a boy who swallowed a tempest.
Her fingertips couldn't quell the storm,
He thrashed, hurricanelike,
In their sea of sheets.
When the Sabbath came,
And he couldn't choke out three words,
She ran home to her mother,
In her big wooden house.
She cut off all her hair,
Still safe high in her tower.
Her prince loved a king,
She locked the door and ate the key.
He lay in bed alone,
Kings don't keep bed with stable-boys,
And for the first time,
He missed her, but not like that.
Opening a window,
He lit a match, and blew smoke,
And rose to her threshold,
She said nothing.
No sorries were said,
But that night, they slept soundly.
The Last DetentionI've spent too many years sitting
in the back of a classroom.
We see thousands of chalkboard faces
in the evening haze of rush hour traffic.
The nicest days of the year always happen
when our Teachers give us detention.
We can't be trusted to punish ourselves.
Grab a stick of chalk and begin.
100 times- I will not cheat on my husband.
100 times- I will not miss my nephew's soccer game so I can drink alone.
100 times- I will not leave smaller tips for the older, less attractive waitresses.
100 times- I will finally get the courage to kiss her tonight.
100 times- I will tell him it is over if he hits me again.
100 times- I will not be weak.
100 times- I will notice the sky today.
100 times- I will invite the widow in 5A to Christmas Dinner.
100 times- I will call my sister.
100 times- I will learn the difference between what is worth fighting for and what isn't.
100 times- I will ask my co worker how he is doing and actually care.
100 times- I will do more than just get by.
What if there
Mendbreathe in, breathe out.
a picture's worth a thousand wounds
and there's galleries on our sleeves.
blade in, bleed out.
cutting out the imperfections
because there's a crowd to please.
but you're the only one who doesn't know you're beautiful,
and these wounds are not the final word on who you are.
we can grow new skin to hide these scars,
rewrite these broken lyrics and dance to a different song.
breathe in, breathe out.
we're wearing this cycle thin and vice versa.
we've all got demons in our yesterdays,
so tear them out of the calendar pages.
tomorrow is a new diary with your name on the flyleaf,
let's cross our hearts and hope to live.
Once ComfortingWooden platforms housing the collective words
Of authors past and present tense,
From which I drew shelter in pubescent days,
Back when escaping life was just a turn of the page,
I would pass the time in naïve haze,
Filling my mind with the white lies
That writers call device.
I drank deep from this well of thoughts,
Getting drunk on the heavy draughts
Taking in the pathos notions
From those that would describe a puddle
When it's an ocean
They stuck in me,
Those written hollow truths.
Duty, Honor, Glory,
Consumed my mind
And in search of these,
I left home to find
Leaving behind those paper portals
To gather dust in an empty room,
Where there are none to exhume
Such dangerous ideals.
War taught me uncertainty,
Where chaos moves too fast to see
And life is but a privilege
Bestowed by a corpse's eyes,
Oh, how I long for those comforting lies!
Orange hourglassYour lips taste like apple pie
and candle wax,
softening under the heat of my fingers
as you look at me with spice eyes,
hands plucking at the guitar strings
that line my backbone.
We spend nights writing letters
on decaying midribs;
reminders that our skin will fade
just as quickly before winter
and we'll be craving each other's embrace
when the moment is gone.
I see frost and ink in your palms
and you call it solid emotions
before melting them across my ashen skin.
We kiss under jack-o-lanterns
before everyone replaces our romance
with mistletoe and ice.
We're sand and curled vines,
traveling on old maples,
tasting the scents of Autumn
on the tips of our tongue;
death and pleads.
We're the end of a season,
the end of a two month story.
Dear GodDear God,
Let me just start out by saying that
I know I don't believe in you
- I don't think I ever did.
I know church was just an obligation to me,
Filled with psalms and flickering candles.
I know I've "sinned",
And I'm sorry
- that's what you say
When you're in confession,
Right? I'm sorry?
(more than I've told the truth),
I've committed blasphemy
Godhow I've used your name in vain).
You could even say that
I'm not happy with what I have
(is this body really something to be proud of?).
But worst of all those sins,
I've committed murder.
I've killed the person
You used to know.
That innocent little girl
Who used to balance your book
In her tiny hands
And caress its weight to her chest;
Those papyrus-thin words
Rustling as they impacted
Her still developing morals.
The little girl
Who created ripples in
Your bowl of holy water
- watching as they rebounded
And slowly stilled into
BloomIt's normal, you know.
Bruises flower under skin like lilies in a garden
Tears find their place just like water in the soil
They seep into the black
And hurt grows so green and natural.
Pearl skin is supposed to go purple
It's as right as the rain.
So don't worry, don't fret
I'm art, you know, cross-stitching on the wall
An ivory piano key
Just as I should be
Because battered things are beautiful.
Feathers torn from silk pillows
And stick figures on balance beams
Aren't as loved, nor as adored,
Nor as beautiful as me.
ForeclosureWhere are they now?
emerald city slums,
dirt in the sky.
The child fell off his bike and
skinned his knee. He cried when
I tried to help him up. Ants carried
his blood away. We don't need
that kind of pride.
A woman in Pasadena sold a slice
of toast with F.D.R.'s face on it.
I thought it looked more like you
standing in the rain.
We were asked to recreate the Gospels and
you suggested Michael Bay.
Some things never change.
Columbus found America,
the same way Descartes found existence,
the same way my brother found bourbon
the same way a horse finds religion.
It was always there so
just be careful with it.
We're all afraid of snakes.
His Breath, Her DeathHer eyes,
so pale yet patient,
swarms of orca whales swim inside her irises,
dancing along the sunlight in jewel tones,
so rich with reflection,
it's as though you are staring into the ocean
if the ocean were emptiness,
but when you look passed the beauty
you can see that she is broken,
she is a ship wreck in the making
with anchored hips and a drowning smile,
but that's what she gets for falling too fast
when everyone told her it wasn't safe to sail,
the waters too rough, too cold, too heart breaking,
it's too late now though,
she is withered and writhing,
intertwined with ribbons of seaweed,
she has nothing left to give anymore
because he stole her oxygen and
trapped it inside his own greedy lungs,
so now as she dies,
he breathes in her reaping
and then the wind sweeps them up, down, and away.
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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