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Ink Butterflieswhen it comes down to it
everything i attempt
is for naught
what's done is done
i can't help but wonder
what's the point
of an ink
if it only flies off
The Lonely PhotographerIt's not a true loneliness.
More of a loud loneliness.
Surrounded by potential photographs.
Bustling people only pass by.
Nobody notices the lonely photographer.
Nobody remembers the lonely photographer.
The photographer remembers.
The photographer documents.
Everything but themselves.
The photographer ends alone.
With the best record.
The chance happenings.
The funny moments.
All on record.
Life Spins OnLiving is but day to day
No guarantee of what comes next
Suddenly your schedule is tossed off-kilter
Your world plunged into an abyss
Whirling and twirling
Life comes to a stop
Such a halt has never occurred
You watch and wonder
Someone so filled with life
Taken away abruptly
Sniffles and tears are expected
Holding it in is too hard
You cry and you scream
"Why not me?"
But life spins on
For you at least
You're expected to get over it
Although such pain still remains
PretendGenerally I'm lonely
But not really alone
Surrounded by faces
Passing in a haze
Happily chatting and
Why can't I stop dwelling
On the wrong in this world?
What's to live for?
Who's to die for?
Nothing seems worth it anymore
An existence not even worth it
Those who know me don't really care
It's all a game of pretend
ImaginationOn occasion there is no wonder
Why I prefer unrealistic lands
Full of adventure
With no schedule to keep
Such magic isn't possible
Which you oft remind me
Yet oh so desirable
How could life bore me so?
This is my imagination
Nothing makes sense
But home is found here
Among billions of alternate
You will find me content
Only NothingSit down
Once in a
Take this in
Write this down
Handle the stress
Wait and be judged
Unable to handle
Swallow these pills
To no avail
Without certain smarts
YOU ARE NOTHING
Such A PityLook at me
Don't think you can see
What it is truly like
To be me
From time to time
All the same
Don't count me as broken
Before you give me a chance
Ignore me if you will
Be that your stance
I'd try to explain it further
But your ears are absent not listening
Instead I'll carry on
Pretending I'm not hearing your speech
When really I am
But you've missed your once chance
Don't come back with your ignorant words
It's a pity to see you fall.
The Magic Books BringA nameless girl who needed an ear to listen
The forgotten boy giving up on everything
Only one hope can bind them to this planet
A place once cherished, now deserted
The mythological land where anything
Can and does happen
Fact can ring true
While dragons are slayed
And true love is made
You question and wonder
How on Earth this is true
Yet if you leafed through
The pages of a yellowed
Surrounded in a library of
So much more to read
You'd certainly find that
Imagination is the key
I give away
it takes months
and not quite
for my full
faith in you
to be reached
The moment you
step on that
with only few
I pour my heart
out to you
casts me to sorrow
you've dug a deeper
than I was already
buried deep in
My thoughts on
are again minimal
as I withdraw myself
from your person
perhaps to find
who can respect
and refrain from
breaking it into
a fine dusty
Like you've done
I should be careful
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
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
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
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
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
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
You Ever Felt ItHave you ever felt it?
When you lay there broken
And feel yourself so guilty
Eyes gushing red
And you want to sleep in a coma
Your brain swelling with thoughts
At the same time empty with nothing
When you can't suit yourself
And see yourself a place among the demons
that moment when you control your life
The moment when you choose between life and death
And then you yourself can decide either way
It's when you're on the edge
And want someone to pull you back before you make another step
A hook, to rip all the insanity out of your body
And suck all the madness that is growing black dead trees
Have you ever felt it, have you known depression
Did you ever seek a source of help, and did you ever find it
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
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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