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BittersweetI don't want it to be up to me.
So much emotion and meaning, conveyed in just nine short words.
So little, and yet, so much.
But, do you truly understand?
I do not understand myself, my emotions, or why I have this daily façade.
-such is this, a fake life-
So how can you?
-a mask of falseness-
I do not think you do.
Because, have you ever let your mind wander,
Wondering what it would be like to kill or to be killed?
To feel a knife carve through flesh and bone of another being?
-Ripping the tissue and vessels of their muscle-
To see the crimson lifeblood of another drying on your own skin?
-the drops splattered all across you-
Or perhaps, what it is like to feel flames lick your body leaving a twisted and charred path in their wake.
Or to experience what it is like to have your lungs fill with water, suffocating every cell that holds you together?
What about our society?
Or Humans in general.
Have you ever let your thoughts drift, realizing how we are paras
It's always like this.
Can't you see?
I just want someone to be there.
You say that they are proud of me.
But how do I know that is true?
How am I sure it's not a ploy?
I'm tired of the uncertainty,
I'm sick of the masks.
I want to belong.
I want to be me.
But I don't know me.
This bitter-sweet logic.
I can't even put my feelings to words,
let alone this poem.
Sometimes I wonder.
Who am I truly?
You say I know the answer.
But truth is, I don't.
Depressing Poetry --Can't you see through the front I put on every day?
Don't you realize it's just a façade?
The me that is true is broken,
I'm not insane, but I'm not exactly sane either.
Caught in between,
A me I'm not sure of,
A me that I don't even know.
Who am I?
What do I represent?
Questions like that fuel my thoughts each day.
I need help, I can feel it.
The me that you know,
It's not real.
A fictional character from the back of my mind: -----.
The dried salty tears that ran down my cheeks sting,
the sensation dull.
I push through the sadness,
the hate of me,
fictional pixels lifting my spirits like no-one I know can.
Heh, It's stupid isn't it?
Music to meCalming, these captivating melodies,
The rhythm has me swaying,
and pushed keys,
and blown flutes,
The harmony of the orchestra,
In tune to a clear voice.
Transport me to another place,
Away from the troubles,
The worries and stress,
To a place where the sound washes over me.
Relaxing my mind,
Soothing my soul,
A harbinger of peace
In my own little sanctuary of bliss.
For each beat has me moving,
and each verse has me singing
as though it's a trance.
Nothing but the symphony resounding around me,
Just like an addiction,
It has me hooked for life.
Why?Why do I try to make my world right?
Why don't I let it all pass by?
Every minute I'm changing,
Every second I'm blaming,
Myself and the people inside.
TheWorldThey hide their pain,
For our sake,
But there is one thing I'd like to know,
One thing I'd like to see,
How is it that they represent you and me?
For every squabble,
and every change,
It always ends the same.
Pain and loss on both sides,
We should all be ashamed.
Peace is something to be learned,
The Uninvited Guest A boy about eighteen crouched, hidden in the ferns and undergrowth of a dark, dense,
tropical forest. His emerald eyes scanned the area for any slight movement. Finding none other than what was natural, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding. He knew they were going to come back for him, they hunted him endlessly. Ever since that one time.
Sighing again the boy stood up, looked around once again, and took off into the night. He didn't have the vaguest idea of where he was going. Only that he needed to get as far away from that place as possible. It had always been like this, ever since he could remember.
"Of course." A voice breathed. Sighing, a boy, around sixteen, looked up from the book he was reading, "It's almost cliché." Sometimes I ask myself why I read books like this but I figure in a dull, modern life like mine, dreaming is all you have. Glancing at the clock he decided it was time to get g
Our BondThe bond of our friendship,
throughout the years,
survived though thick and thin,
whenever you moved away.
A while ago,
when you came back again,
our was bond stronger than ever,
with more than one person,
to share it with.
And yet you left again,
it was not your choice,
though the actual distance is not far,
you felt worlds apart.
I have not seen you since you left,
and on this side,
our bond was still tight,
even if it was a little dusty.
not so long ago,
you came back for a short time,
to be with friends,
and though I wanted to be,
I was not there,
and from what I heard,
from those that were,
our bond so strong and tight,
I found out,
was rotting away,
from your side,
I know people are supposed to change,
but this is too much,
you no longer represent you,
the friend I know is gone,
in a past that I wish for,
an empty shell.
I know the others would agree,
Is there any way to save you?
I wish this redone.
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.
if you want to give someone the silent treatment,
the first step is shutting up.
things made much more sense
when I was younger.
I thought there was one path,
each choice a stepping stone upon it.
in reality there are a million roads
intertwined like rope.
I got lost
I chose you.
promises are easily broken.
I knew that,
but it still hurt
spending friday night
shivering in the rain,
choking on cannabis perfume
in a dirt parking lot
your face never graced.
and I hoped against hope
you might appear,
but I wasted my wishing
on ungrateful you.
you died before taking your first breath.
I took a chance
and I should've known better.
you can give somebody all you have
and nothing can stop them from
throwing it away.
you've made this bed,
now lie in it.
you slit this suture,
you're the goddamn reason
I gave up on the month of april,
and soon enough you'll fall on your own blade
like some drunken samurai.
if you want
Die AloneI take apart her heart
And lay the pieces down
In a circular form.
Let her bleed a work of art.
I forgot I’m crazy.
I’ll whisper my secrets
Only if she promises
To die here alone with me.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?
They ask it like a dare.
As if letting your unlikely dreams
slip from the safety of your mind
could bring their own
a little closer to reality.
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in modern art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
RelativityLooking in the mirror
through the mirror
seeing a stranger,
My chest swells and my heart lurches
This girl isn't me, not at all
She looks like someone
but not me.
A movie star, a homeless person.
Even when I look at photos
no memory comes up
no allowing for the thought that I have a body
Or that the cold of my fingertips,
the throb of anxiety inside my ribs
I see my arm, an armband
A scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaning
But it did, to this girl in the mirror
Even if memory fails
Existence is relative
What Writers AreWriters are people from
both ends of the spectrum.
Those that know isolation
and the thoughts that follow.
Those that know enlightenment.
And those with nowhere else to go,
but deeper down the rabbit hole.
Writers are smiths of the word,
using imagination, experience,
and emotions to temper the
glass and steel we are given.
We fill the page with pieces
And writers are Gods.
Broken or whole or
barely scraping through.
We make you see our world.
We make you feel and care.
All with a bunch of lines,
which we have given life.
Hope in my Lawyer's Paperclip JarMy lawyer's desk on a normal Wednesday afternoon
is flooded with sheafs of white legal pads and errant staples.
Today is Wednesday, but the clouds outside
his twelfth-story window are shaped like loss
and the lines around his eyes seem crater-like in the shadows
and nothing about the last three weeks of my life
has been normal, so I don't know why it surprises me
to find his desk cleared of debris.
I wait for him in a silence that ebbs and flows with my heartbeats,
the zipper on my knee highs tapping against my leg like rain.
When he returns, hands filled with coffee
and the paperwork for a restraining order
against the man he set me up with almost a month ago,
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
"There's only one paperclip left in the magnetic jar.
It's bent like a swan."
I can tell, from the awkward shuffling of his loafers,
that he's wondering if he should have brought the Kleenex, after all.
He knows women often cry at things such as these,
reminders of the men they've love
1969, and time goes oni imagine you
thief of space affairs, time would go on;
wonder if you'd manifest
to govern gravity’s empire
physically, just as aurally,
so to walk with a
winds at war
captivated by you; sunshine
gathered in the organized
chaos of your hair: eyes would
dance fires domesticated by
your fingertips, boasting wander-
world laws of light (reigned in
earthen measure). i’d
boast mountains by your name.
the exhaust for gods
of transience (north-
hazed) transmuted back
(for easy drawls from the east)—
i’d sip wine
from the wishbone of your
body of sea. plead
the noise of bedroom eyes
& sleepy smells to soften your
siren’s unquiet tease.
i imagine you,
thief of space affairs;
imagine you in 1969
where our time would go on.
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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