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you didn't listen when i saidthe thunder is an earthquake,
waking my bones, waking my blood,
waking me up like a bump in the night.
i want to say
this is for everyone who has realized that
humans are just fragments of regret and hope
but it is more for you than anyone else.
and it is so easy to fall apart without you
but i am holding on and
i'll be okay. i'll be fine.
not a fairytalethe windows are dirty. the windows are dirty
and this is not a fairytale because
i'm not happy
i'm not a good person
i'm not okay with myself.
i don't want you to break this
i don't want you to break -
i don't want you
but i do.
the skeletons that were in my closet have come out,
they're dancing on my bed, they're dancing on my grave
my teeth hurt when their bones shake and they rattle like
the phone in my hands -
it's ringing and ringing and ringing but it's not between my fingers
it's in my stomach and i can't pull it out and
someone has fallen off the steps into darkness, underground,
inside me is darkness.
my intestines will never see the light until i've died and
is that where you are calling for me
are you leaving your hand prints in the dust on my windowpanes
are you calling for me
because i don't want to be rescued.
lovers that went wrong.my blood is congealing,
and you are leaving.
it is night but still not dark enough outside.
i cover the windows.
the light keeps seeping through.
i suppose, if we were meant to be alone,
there is no such thing as
i am the moon and you are the tide,
running to escape me.
but only the tide always returns.
i'm shit at foreshadowing,
but when you pack your suitcase, even i can tell -
you aren't coming home anymore.
my blood is congealing,
and i don't know where you are
running down the timei wonder what the clock is thinking as it
ticks away my life
if it is laughing at how poorly i am spending
all my time - like
loose change in my pocket, as if the world is
waiting for me to figure out what i
want to buy.
and then i realize that clocks do not laugh and
i have no place giving inanimate objects
feelings they have no reason to feel, although i
am still under the impression that
if clocks could laugh - and perhaps they do
, when no one is listening - then this one
or perhaps i am wrong entirely, and i am
terrible at telling the emotions of objects (and
of course i am, how does one tell how a clock feels?)
and maybe the clock is
crying for me.
for these are lost moments
because they could be better spent
holding someone's hand making wishes on a hundred
thousand dandelions looking out over the ocean
on an airplane but still afraid
and maybe the clock is not laughing or crying at all.
maybe the clock is just a clock and
home is where the heart ismy bones lay bare on the asphalt
the concrete hot under calloused feet
words like squidink bleed from my bitten lips.
but you love me, i know you do.
fuck the 'maybe's,
our apartment will have white walls, afternoon sunlight shining,
a hummingbird feeder out on the balcony.
i can hear those tiny wingbeats now
like your heart pumping faster when i lie next to you.
i'm drawing images of crumped paper upon paper.
distracted, i am imagining
brushstrokes of your hands upon my skin.
promise i'll wake up early enough to brew coffee for you.
i'm just sorry that when you say 'home'
it doesn't mean me.
tiredthe stars crumple,
going out one by one.
i slump in your eyes, longing for your arms,
like wet paper.
feelings swim coyly, koi-like, in my veins.
i open dry lips to tell you
but my words are smoke, all you hear is
ash and embers and
i sit quietly.
the flowers outside are waiting for rain.
it's been this way
for as long as i can remember.
as it fell, i fell with iti saw a shooting star for the first time on friday.
it was unearthly, so unreal above me,
skidding silently across the sky.
if you had been standing beside me, i would've
slipped my hand into yours and
[maybe] made a wish.
but it didn't happen -
my eyes were too weak to follow it into the dark,
the distance between our bodies too great,
my trembling, yearning fingers
"what does it matter?"
you said later. "it's only a meteor."
regrets and worriesi seem to be staying up later every night
to avoid dreaming.
the weeks blend into a slop of
sleepy lunchtimes and tense evenings and
with each day that passes, i become
even more afraid of saying goodbye to you.
i think you are tired [of me] these days
and my organs are shredding like origami birds
in front of a train.
i wonder what i'll regret in ten years.
i wonder if it'll be you.
we have no milk in the fridge
and i am starving [for attention].
i don't deserve you but i love
your crooked smile.
[it's another long night and it's only 2:10am].
Linger: A SonnetThere was a time when open hearts did see
Across the city, through the fog and rain
To where my darling held and lay with me
In special places never seen again.
We lovers spun our dandelion dreams,
And kissed each other under naked stars.
We sewed our lives together at the seams,
And pushed away the thought of broken hearts.
But everything must reach it's deadly end
And prison bars must close upon this love.
Examined futures built by loving hands
Now crumble to the cry of mourning doves.
Then from the flesh of fallen dreams there grew
A dandelion place for lovers true.
wrong bedsyou fall to the ground, sand between your fingers,
grass tickling the tips of your toes
and you scream
noise is all there is -
emotion drained from your system through way of your lungs
and then, there is nothing left
muscles relax, head sinking into the ground,
falling slightly to the left
broken twigs litter the ground beside you
still clinging onto their leaves -
bright green in the cloud-dulled moonlight
you realise you love them more than anything else in this world
because you know that sometimes,
the broken things need the most love
you burn the book you write in
smoke fills your nostils, stings your eyes
and you realise that the ashes swept by the wind
carry the only emotion you've ever felt
you let them scatter
because you know that you need to destory everything
in order to have nothing
and be happy with it
finally gave up'well what were you expecting?'
'something with meaning'
i felt like a baby when i laid in your arms
when you pressed your palms against mine
my fingers barely reaching halfway up yours
you laughed when i called you gorgeous
and didn't smile when i told you i liked you
but your lips still slid across my stomach
i don't think you know that you made me cry
and i don't think you understand that you
meant more to me, than i did to you
and you say sorry now, with a full stop
as if it's the end of everything; the end of us
but do you even know what you're really
Just a tease.Yeah, I knew it.
But, that didn't stop me
from liking the way she
She was a wild, all-consuming
i n f e r n o
With a tongue like hot wax
and cool peppermint ice-cream.
She skipped on tiny, pixie feet
whispering bitter winter promises
in the middle of 90 degree weather;
unraveling hearts like her favorite
pair of DIY holly jeans and wearing
leftover heartstrings like false
[ I burnt to a crisp
under her fingertips. ]
Caught DrowningFirst I notice her hair: dark and longer than any girl I've met, pulled back in a high ponytail and still past her waist. Since I'm following the line of her hair, I see her hips next, round and smooth like a bright red apple, picked fresh and rubbed against t-shirts, ready for biting. Attached there and growing like slender trunks from her hemline are two long, smooth legs. She smells like green grass and old wood.
We exchange the normal pleasantries. She is subtle and graceful; demure and polite. She speaks like an orchestra, her tones long and smooth, but there's a hiss there, like steam from a radiator. It works for her, and I've never done this before.
She laughs at that, a sound like a sour note that tugs somewhere at my stomach. "Exotic," I say; and she laughs at that too.
I realize she's waiting for a sign, so I imagine a flare between my lips and blow it out, a slow exhale. I wobble in the breath, but she catches me with her eyes. Black eyes, I notice, all the way through, but
orange skyi still think about you every night,
trapped in an ocean of images
caught tangled in the sound of your voice;
is it just me,
or did we spark?
but perhaps all you are
is the pretty colours on the feathers
the sweet smell from the flowers
nothing i can grasp -
truth flavoured lies - collabthe lie about me:
i am beautiful like freshly-cut grass and popsicles in the middle of the day. i am summer-lips and winter-teeth, laughing my way through autumn-leaves. i am branding laughter against the back of my throat so i can feel it with every breath i draw in, soaking in your words as i stick them under my tongue and save them for a while. i am living for the moment and dancing without caring whos watching. i am loving recklessly and throwing my heart into the wind with wild abandon. i am calling each scar a beauty mark and opening my arms wide to catch the wind. you are calling me love and i am answering.
the truth about me:
i am ugly like cracked sidewalk and melted popsicles all over calloused hands. i am winter-eyes and cracked-leaf-lips, evaporating along with the polluted ocean. i am branding my mistakes on the back of my eyelids so i never forget but rather dream along the splintering branches of them.
fall to intangibility with meYou're just one of those lionhearted rarities; distinct in this world of fast-moving heartbeats and electric cacophony. For every key you touch is another second of pending and disquieted love. One of those ethereal extinctions; before everyone turns their eyes on you you've already flown away.
I stand watching under your dim balcony behind a happy façade; Watching you like a dream catcher. Because I keep cotton clouds in glass jars and paint my world in shades of white and write your name in the spaces between my fingertips.
Weeks are rigid borders like prison barring minutes in; and cliffs made of metal;
I watch you laugh and frown through those incandescent gold reflections.
I want to write you the most beautiful nocturne and paint you something abstract of gold swirls and blue intangibilities to hang on your ceiling;
to make you think of me.
While years and years race past me I drag old clothes out of closets until flecks of dust dance in the air because I want to be a butterf
figments.whore, they chime after her, their voices so lovely on such a harsh word, confused, startled, a crow bleeding in the snow, breathe in deep, hush your tumbleweeds, you don't know, oh, oh, oh, the moose wild moon bellows of hopeless love, and we croon beneath its musical tears.
aren't you a pretty little thing, he whispers to her on a crackly old voice, like a record player, but his eyes aren't kind like they're portrayed in the black and white films of jazz bands, and she swallows down the tatters of newspapers decreeing blasphemy against her crocheted broken doll skin, the way lips melt when it's too quiet to laugh.
this song makes me feel like you, she whimpers, but no one hears her over the mourning wolves slashing their blood riddled jaws to eat up the white sky as they ponder when the storm will begin to crush their silk wired smiles, but she wonders when you will miss her carcass rotting beneath your porch because she loves you.
it was cliche but so are wecall me at half past two -
losing sleep over me, as familiar
with your ceiling as i am with my own,
give in to temptation, pick up the phone -
stick a note in my locker -
come find it from the one time you saw it,
and you'll know it's mine when there are too many
books to read, people to beome, and then
leave, ashamed you can't speak straight to my face -
run after me in the rain -
soaking to the bone and aching from the cold
(or is it us arguing that hurts?) and knock on my door or
grab my hand. just don't let go -
show up with flowers -
just appear there, slight blush staining your cheeks.
appear anywhere. after school outside my
sciene class, in the middle of the road as i'm walking
home from school, a couple petals precariously close to
throw pebbles at my window -
in the middle of the night. or call my cellphone as
you see me climb into bed. or shine a flashlight through
the glass after i switch off the light. or climb up the
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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