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32you were gone before it even sank in that you were really there.
habit is the worst thing, cause it made me so blind to the fact that you could
just as easily be snatched away from me.
i should have hugged you at least four more times
i've spent the better half of a year being your definition of evil and insane
at the same time. i've known better than everything i've done, but done it
anyway. god knows i've repeated the same tedious/dangerous/stupid
actions over and over wanting/expecting different results.
you wouldn't be proud of me for anything anymore.
but i'm still mad at you, i'm sure of it. if you waded through the
rising tides, or peeled away my blue like old house paint, you'd find something
that screams how you broke everything inside me. and how you were one single event
that taught me that just cause something ends, that doesn't mean its over.
and that i will waste every single change given to me.
the only thing you ever told me that i listened to, was to rest occasionally.
waste.distance is the worst thing ever
and i think
'if these people were closer, everything would
just be so much better'
but then i stop
and remember all the people in my town
who i barely see
and the thought
to the same place
he's my bottom
my rock bottom
simple math.it was the strangest thing to be complaining about, not liking
feeling -this- human. feeling so fucking vulnerable and exposed, and not
understanding anything that is going on but knowing that its actually
just chemicals that we’ve given names too
and far too fucking weak to handle the tidal wave of shitty chemical reactions you
bring with you.
pressure.she was cracked in places only she could feel, and where the blood could only be tasted, and not seen.
her lips, fingertips and inside her chest. she learned that there are certain body parts prone to being cut or bruised, and her white laced knees could attest to that. but there comes a time when cutting your leg on the coffee table or pinching your stomach with your belt buckle, isn't an accident anymore. its something more, and you know it is. but you can go so long without ever admitting it to yourself, and even longer for anyone else.
calamity.the poor boy got a lecture from deaths secretary
"deaths busy enough as it is without walk ins"
"but it was urgent," he stutters.
"it couldn't wait, it was now or never"
he was simply told
"take a number, and wait over there with the rest
who 'couldn't wait' "
003its easier to say
"i'm fine, just tired"
than explain the water rising
when really they just asked out of politeness
and don't -actually- care.
stuck to the back of my throat.yesterday i saw you in cracks of my staircase
and inbetween the pages of my class novel.
you look like hell, and i thought the
darkened circles under your eyes
resembled the colour i think my
love for you would probably be.
its saddening that the thick oxygenated
purple and red mix is kind of like
what i saw once one one
of those anti smoking commercials
spilling forth from a dissected lung.
thats what you are.
you're my personal cancer.
quietly.i lost track how many times i told you those damned things would kill you. that they would set your insides on fire and burn you alive. or the smoke would seep into your blood and bones and stain you with the faintest taste of lingering death. but god dammit i don't know why i didn't notice it earlier, that was the entire fucking point of the, wasn't it? maybe not in the beginning, but the 5th year in, or after he skipped town and left you speechless each one was a tiny suicide, a quiet, unseen death. each packet held 10 days off your life, maybe more, and they're so much less conspicuous than a gun or a sudden addiction to painkillers.
I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.I can't even pretend things are simple anymore.
It's raining again, and with every crash of thunder, I miss you more than I can bear. I know it's not worth saying, because really nothing much is anymore, but it doesn't make it any less true.
It's eleven ten on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in the middle of the grass, watching the downpour spill off the roof. My t-shirt is clinging to my ribcage, and my hair is sticking to my face. I can feel the water running down the ridges of my spine, the backs of my hands, clumping in my eyelashes, but still, I don't move. Sometimes, when I can't stand what the world is doing anymore, I allow myself a thunderstorm to wash everything away.
It's the meteorological equivalent to a clean break. Faster to heal -- or at least, that's what they say.
The lightning is tearing across the sky, cutting through the darkness like a crack in the atmospheric layers. I'm staring at this like I half expect all the air to disappear around me while the world disinte
A Liston the back of a graded test (88 and a few red marks) scalded with tea stains and flecks of fennel:
THINGS I WISH I KNEW
- whether i'm less or more
- what he's thinking when he's
- when i'll find the answers i'm searching for
- if he'll find a better girl in this lifetime
- when i'll figure out that i'm the best i can be
- if he'll ever re-discover me
- when i can finally start living in love and not in fear
Tattooed in My Tear DuctsI don’t know any big words
and I don’t drink tea and I haven’t read
all the classics and my hair is a startling
shade of ash blonde, if you’re being
generous. I would call it grey. I will not
impress you. And maybe that’s impressive
enough. You will always get an honest
reaction from me.
My mother drinks tea though,
earl grey, and chai and chamomile,
she thinks it will heal her, make her
sleep. But sleep and healing are not
the same things.
I have run from monsters
to find them in my sleep, and by run
I mean get high, and by monsters,
I mean me. If sleep is a mirror
we are all doomed. I’ve seen myself,
eyes red and raccooned, reaching
for some comfort and I had to explain
that my lips swell when I cry. All I wanted
was for you to say that I look pretty when
I have come to realize two things:
one, that everything I want is not good for me and
two, I am not the worst things I ever did.
I am not the worst things I ever did.
I want this tattooed i
Hands.Maybe the reason why I didn't hold on to your hand
was because I knew that as soon as I did,
everything would be real, I would start to fall for you,
because holding onto someone's hand is like begging
someone to take your heart and I just wasn't ready
to be broken again.
sleep, as an elephant1.
it is strange to see you
older and out of love with me
it is similarly strange to see me
younger and out of love with you.
i want to
throw my arms around your neck
thank you for
leading me to believe in love,
thank you for
showing me what the cock does
when it crows and summons the morning.
thank you for laying in my bed,
breathing my breath.
thank you for laying in my bed,
with your head on my breast
listening to the fluttering
bird in its nest.
thank you for staining my bed-
with your salt, it was blessed.
thank you for leaving my bed,
giving my dreams to its next.
thank you for, out of all the rest,
choosing me as the first, remembering
me with the best.
thank you for june,
and then june again.
thank you for december, and
thank you for the time
that helped me break my body in-
thank you for two ticks
on the wall of not-forever.
thank you for june to june to december.
in a few years,
when you are older still and i am
getting even younger, i want to take
Bad taste.You are a
sad song at the back
of my mouth,
gagging me with
every word I try to
say that isn't praise
of your name and
don't leave me
Tear my tongue from
my cheek, from my spoilt
Let me speak my own
praises of people
who aren't you,
people who could
never be you,
people with hearts
that have not withered,
hands that still know how to
press love-me-tender prints
into my skin and
I still don't know
if you loved or fucked me better.
lesbianShe treads carefully down the hall
Trying hard to ignore them all
Glares of hatred, harsh tongues full of words of disgust
Cutting people down in their world is a must
She doesn't interact, only races to her locker
Avoiding them who judge her for loving another
To them it's sick, disgusting, wrong
To her their love is like a song
Unending, beautiful, and necessary
Hoping one day they can marry
But she is still condemned for her love
Of a girl who is surely from Heaven above
You heard correctly friends, oh yes it is true
She loves a girl, with blonde hair and eyes so blue
The only thing that keeps her going each day
Is being able to see her lover some way
So she lives her life the way she wants
Because she is happy and doesn't flaunt
Living in her world full of dreams
Trying to avoid letting out her screams
For she is happy with just thoughts of her
Which lets the school days pass by in a blur
Counting down to when she'll be in her arms once more
In her safe, warm place with
here's tohere's to the young lovers
who try to prove to those who say
that you won't last past a couple months
that you can combat cruel words
and show you meant it when you said
'i love you' to that special someone
here's to the parents
who love and support their children
no matter who they love
or what they believe
always ready to do what they can
for those who matter most to them
on people as placestw,
the elementary school playground
i still sit on the swings
you were the house i grew up in
and grew tired of,
so very familiar;
every secret door revealed
every hiding spot
i couldn't help but linger
long after it
you are the forest
i have been too afraid to wander in
so beautiful and inviting
so full of poisonous
you were the last car
on a train: temporary,
in transit and moving
nobody can travel
the dusty hotel room
i got comfortable in for
a few days, the one i
found love in
but hotel rooms belong to no one
and i shouldn't have been so
surprised to find that
someone else had been
you were the
girl down the street's
littered with red solo
and not much
you are the back room
of someone else's
the one i've come to hide in
when i can no longe
pale blue.no-one should ever have to spend so much time focusing on
trying their damnedest not to self sabotage.
but the ache of january was too well known to ignore
even when it wasn't there
for years in a row
it still lingered
in the way of old bruises
and silvered scars
that she thought of tearing open
to see if something was still trapped inside
something to unleash.
even if it would destroy everything
cause the ocean leaves traces
of wherever its been
with salt haze
or dark lines marking depth
but she was okay with the salt
and naturally cleans
so even if she chokes
and stops breathing
it won't hurt.
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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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