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Please cheer up.Are we quietly dreaming,
Or wandering through reality?
Give me a chance to stop the screaming,
And a chance to set me free.
Hold the barrel to your lips forgetting any meaning,
And all the questions - one shot and then we will see.
Deaf.Stop myself for a moment.
Can't you hear? Can't you hear?
Sit myself down for a second.
Can't. You. Hear?
Her voice is reaching out to me.
Her lies are all that I can see.
Shes running her fingers over scarred skin.
Sensing the haunting memories held within.
She strokes my throat with cold steel.
Its sharp edge, and the warmth I feel.
She pulls it slowly against my cheek.
Suddenly shaking, I feel so weak.
Skull crashing into the wall.
Tears begin to fall.
She holds onto my throat tightly.
Choking me ever so slightly.
She looks down and begins to speak.
And again. I. feel. so. weak.
"Can't you hear? Open your fucking mouth."
Placing the freezing cold onto the tip of my tongue.
I can taste the iron flavoured rose against the bite of steel.
Again she starts.
"Can't you hear? Swallow bitch."
Fucking WhoreDon't you go telling me theres a reward,
That I cannot fucking reach!
Telling me all your golden ideas and opinions,
That you forvever fucking preach!
Listen so hard, Im frustrated by you cus,
Twisting dark strands of hair around my finger.
Pull, tear, shred and rip it all fucking out.
The faster its done the longer pain will linger.
Right, now I can't hear you anymore.
My skulls filling with the screaming...
And shes telling me I'm a fucking whore!
A state where I wish I was dreaming.
So fucking cliche, yet Im sure it's real.
She loves all my frightened tears.
People sing it so very often.
For gods sake, shes feeding on my fears!
So fucking cliche, dammit. Yet she ain't real!
A shinning guardian angel - Beauty so pure.
Stained crimson. And her carcass black as coal.
Shes chaining me down. No cure.
So cliche it all seems for fucks sake!
Again, and again. Pulling metal through my skin.
It makes her smile oh so contentedly.
My blood to wash away all of my sin.
A voice. One so loud.
Other soul...Fingers out stretched, Lost within memories.
Painfully pressing my palms onto the icy mirror.
Fiery hot pain beginning to explode,
The glass cracks. Agony pulsating within my body.
I grapple with the urge to recoil.
Straining with every fibre of my being.
To retain the contact.
Of my blazing fingertips on the mirror the frozen surface.
The moon is tinted a blue hue here by the glowing moon.
I can tell my eyes are painfully red.
I greet the mirror with my other hand.
Softly touch the tip of my nose against my reflection.
Then pulling my hands down as I relax myself.
The melting rose colour liquid spills onto the darkened surface.
It smears as I move my skin within it.
I press my lips against my own in the mirror.
The soft hot flesh sticks slightly,
Before I pull my head back slightly,
Opening my eyes.
The image on the other side begins to convulse.
It warps, bends and shifts.
I slide my hands to the floor.
Wrists trailing red hot blood.
The crack in the glass grows bigger. Deeper.
End of the world.Burnt smouldering wings on an angels back,
Her fall from grace oh so sinister,
and those tears have stained her face,
She is a poised atop a throne made of roses.
An angel will rarely stay beautiful and pure.
Werent we all innocent in the beginning?
We grow darker day after day,
Slowly being claimed by the worlds decay.
Our minds become broken and twisted,
The wings tainted a crimson red.
And we begin to bleed and rust,
The smiling faces fade into the dust.
Our world is breaking down here can you tell?
Everythings turning into red and the siren is sounding.
And the tortured screams of the damned rise high.
Havent we been awaiting this?
We deserve this as humans.
We are selfish and cruel.
We all deserve to die.
When the red skies come.
Again. Stuff...Thats another ten minutes passed.
I feel. That nothing I do is worthwile.
I want someone to smile,
As a result of my existence.
Something that I've done or said.
To make a connection with someone else.
And for them to understand.
Them to feel compelled to smile a little.
Then I will feel as though Im someone.
And not nothing.
My mind deals with
Overcomes my judgement
Today it's no different
I can't take it anymore
Observing my image but
Nothing is revealed
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
Before My Mouth Told You I Was Sickbefore my mouth told you i was sick, there were
the fingers that wrapped around cups and cups of tea.
i sipped oceans.
i sipped the seven seas
and my ribs were the rainstick that
sent shivers pattering like some
down your swaying, praying spine.
there were the hurricanes.
that is what you came to call them,
my eyes burst into lightning,
my chest quaked with thunder,
when my ribs heaved with the monsoon
that was my breath
until i collapsed, shaking, into your
beach house arms.
there were the missing beats.
sometimes my heart slowed, stopped,
staggered home drunk to gasp morse-code warnings
between my aching ribs.
sometimes the stillness was so perfect
(and alone so tempting)
that i wished for the beat
to wander far and
to be forever lost.
there were the ribs, and the collarbones.
i was a mountain range with
blood in my rivers,
you saw the carrot sticks
(oh god how could you)
and you let me feed myself with
there was the blood i was suppose
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
To the person who holds my best friend's heart...I know that is is kind of weird
But I felt that I should write this down.
I need to tell you what I feel
And tell you what he means to me.
He's my best friend and he's a good man.
Please, give him the love and respect he deserves.
He may seem goofy but he's very sweet.
I know this because he was always there for me when I was sad.
Now, I know that you're not bad
Cause he would never choose someone who's mean.
But I still want to tell you just in case you forget in the future;
Please don't break his heart.
He's been through so much
And he doesn't deserve something like that.
He is the kind of person who smiles even when he's hurt by others
And would take any pain for the people he loves.
I know, I've witnessed it.
I know he may seem kind of childish sometimes
But don't let it get to you.
It's just his way of expressing himself.
He's very caring and I'm sure he'll do anything to make you happy.
He doesn't look like it but he's very kind and thoughtful.
He'll put your needs before h
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
Can you look deeper?You see that girl you just bullied?
The one you harassed over her choice of art?
The art of a man beating a woman to death?
She saw her father kill her mother when she was five.
You know that man who likes to photograph himself in dresses?
The one you called a homo because of his choice of clothing?
Well, his parents wanted him to be a girl instead of a boy.
So they made him dress like that everyday to pretend he was a girl.
You know that woman who writes stories about child rape?
The one you bullied until she didn’t know how to cope with life anymore
Her uncle has been in jail for the past eleven years.
He raped her daily for seven years of her life.
What about that guy who favored abstract artwork?
Do you remember him he liked to use the colors red and black a lot.
He was nearly beaten to death when he was fourteen.
He only knows nightmares because he remembers seeing his blood on the wall.
What about me? Do you remember me? Even just a teensy little bit?
You bullied me because
sexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexBut can we understand it?
Its thrown around so much, so broken and abused.
Weve tainted it havent we?
Love has become so over used.
Spoiled it with our lust of youth.
Can it not exist, as a sweet tender kiss?
Without a pressure in your neck,
To submiss, to fall, to get down on your knees.
Without love we would all fall into heck.
They're all doing it don't you see?
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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