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autumnmy body thrives on the migration of
tree limbs and human hearts -
a golden fist clenches onto modicum
entrails, thrusting pollen up my throat
and into the air you breathe.
tallest man on earthhe rolls in
to waltz out
and out to
before i have
a chance to
whisper, i miss
naive this is new york, new york
and i'm burning under the
cold coffee is crawling
over the bed-side table;
my fingers have gone
numb at the tips -
arctic fantasies of
on loving a girl who doesn't love herselfYou used to tell her that you’d accept the reminders, the dark shades running down and over the hill of her waist, the shadow of her wrist. Far from unlovable, you said. So far.
Grudgingly, you realized that you could not fix her. She was not a dismantled puzzle just waiting for you; she was her own brand of porcelain, one you didn’t know how to mold back together. She wasn’t breathing for you.
The moments of silence between you led to a longer period, those weeks when you went days without talking – and you didn’t know if you were supposed to be proud of her or cry.
Stargazed at each other’s words until the night came when you learned she wanted you to kiss her scars and make love to them as if they were her self. You laughed without humor and said, "I might as well kiss them with the fucking blade then." She said nothing.
When she discovered that you would love her and her body and her past – but wouldn’t trace the lines on her skin
c r a c ki am the one.
not the one but the one -
that can't help but shatter everything
she touches, and my days are spent
ripping splinters from my skin
and wishing i could
radiosthere are some songs i refuse to visit because i can still hear you when i listen closely.
i love her, you say.
oh. i reply.
so i crank up the volume and i close my eyes and i imagine you are holding me and i am holding you and we are dancing.
basiliskI was Snow White
sleep walking; see-through
eyelids colored with
broken crayons and
shards of charcoal.
(Dead Girl, dreaming.)
I am their princess-
fallen, shut out
because I am not
afraid to smile with
my teeth and dirty
my lips in blood.
wake me, Prince
me in the shadows
and we can breathe
my body is not a
corpse but a frame
trapped in time. I am
no sleeping beauty.
you are a
so come a
and kiss me
until my lungs
work once more.
I am a Dead Girl,
dreaming; of waking
scarlettmy momma's wedding dress was white like the light in her heart but two years turned to six and bitter turned to worse; here we are.
insomniac?a lack of sleep
ugly & lionhearted -
( tearing holes in
the past and avulsions
through our future,
we've got impacted cracks
written on the walls of our house
& you never asked why
when i said i hated faithful
stalemates like you. )
- you've made these bones
so warm & cold,
unafraid to breathe in the bitterness of your
what thirst will do to yousometimes when i flick my ashes i imagine tiny little pieces of my lungs crumbling into an ebb-flow tide to the floor of my gut. it is not as hard as everyone thinks, you know. not every bottom hit is impenetrable, and when the bathtub creaks an apologetic, porcelain sound (so strange for hard plastic) i can almost feel it collapsing inward, falling out in through the earth.
fidelic whore-- this is appropriation
my sweet synchronicity ,
i have downed your appetite
in a bed of front teeth
(it is morning in perth
midnight in dublin, and the noon
sun has been lost behind
a dress of mothy curtains)
do i taste of
of love making;
do i reek of
the weeds that
the posture of your spine?
you bend over
my lap a curve of guilt
and weep all night.
i collect each knob of your body
like a gift. press it to my mouth.
leap through eternityi will sink my teeth into a supernova
to let the stardust and
slide down my parched throat and
wash over my intestines,
like a pebble
drowning in the sound--
.the cat keeps
leaving dead meat
on my doormat,
a pile of bones,
bloody and raw
he wants me to
know what i'm
walking into, he
wants me to know
just what i am
to the girl with hungry footstepsI'm sending all my words back
to the people who need them--
people who wear scars like
war trophies, like jewelry, like
an identification for those suffering
from the same acceptance of
self-hate. this is to the people
who sleep with one eye open, who
cry when footsteps enter their room
at night; this is to the girls
who love by cutting their hearts
into snowflakes and watching
them melt. I left you behind and
I can't be sorry for that.
you are the type of beautiful
that kindly asks the world
to fuck off. the days we buried
have decomposed, headstones are
snapshots; sanitized breakdowns,
rusty tongues, sighs laced
with fear, I love you, I love
you. saturdays were the best
because we could sleep through
the nightmare. you painted me a
picture of the world with your words
and they made us wash it away
for being transparent.
we were afraid of nothing
but the monsters in our eyelids.
back then, we counted days
like shooting stars; it took 67
to wish myself away. this
is for you, skygazer;
i just really don't care about climate changei am fourteen.
i am fourteen years old and they tell me
to take on the world, to hold the globe
like a precious creature in my palms
and to balance the continents
between my fingers.
i don't want to suck the toxins from
the atmosphere and pollute young
lungs, the exposition of explicit
curriculum drives me crazy.
it may be compulsory but having
it drummed into your ears and weaved
into your innards is not the way that
(i want to live).
i am fourteen years old,
and they tell us that kids are growing up way too fast
in a world that's self destructing by the second,
but ignorance is bliss - weren't they the ones
who taught us so?
Air SexYou saw a gray mouse today
in the form of a girl
pickin’ her way, skittering
trail of alley apples.
On her mannequin’s body
wracked by a smoker's cough,
of newspaper headlines
held fast with twine.
judders from the
between her thighs,
but don't stare too long
see the ink blot of
if she still gets her periods.
An’ if she holds still
her eyes’ll show you
the mania- but she's
studyin' you right back.
An’ the scab-engers of
her arms are
than you can handle,
so don’t be square
just standin' there
playin' air sex
interlopershow me god the way your mother
knew him, show me the mark on
your body where he stopped
you from suicide, where he changed
your winters to summers and
address me by my first name to show
me that your respect for me hasn't
died, letter by letter, buried between
the bow of your hips alongside our
once-strong playground love.
tell me the preacher was lying as he
spoke of our comely desire falling to
the destructive hand of a deity no one
has ever seen, but feels as they speak
in tongues that never matched the ones i
spoke in to finally tell you that
i felt for you.
don't leave me in some drunken tantrum
across state lines, slurring words as
you try to tell me your love for someone
else is vivid and living in you, even in the
parts that have died away, breathing out
alcohol as you use the word "never".
curl into me with intimacy, touching the sadness
out of me, because i always wanted to be
the one you love, not the one you loved.
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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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