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sleep, or lack thereofSleep is elusive.
It hides behind 10:45 screams
And 'I forgot' showers.
But to say the Grand Canyon's faultless,
Would be to say the same of me.
There is no excuse for 3:14 wanderings,
More confusing and stress-induced to me
Than the same number in geometry.
Yet they serve the same purpose:
Sending me off in circles, which are only useful
I Imagine that sweet pure bliss which tires above all else
And still it helps none.
I yearn for summer days
When my head never hit the pillow
(To my limited frosh knowledge).
The shadows cast by 26 lettered keys
You could say keep me company,
If I ever bothered to glance down.
This problem, if I may call it that without some diagnosis,
Haunts me just as I now do the halls.
There is some desperate hope in my padded tread
Of discovery, because once known,
The process of finding a cure can begin.
Of course I'll never voice it on my own;
Sometimes it's takes the attention and care
To piece together broken fragments,
Which, right now,
babysitter there art thouMy babysitter's back.
To be my mentor, my role model.
[for my confirmation]
But doesn't babysitter realize that she's more useful hiding in the back of my mind?
I know she's swimming in that milky fluid that surrounds my brain, popping out and skirting along the neurons only when babysitter feels the need. Doesn't she feel the awkwardness in her gills, in the knowledge that babysitter's been resurfaced for too long?
I wonder if she remembers.
Babysitter's trading frozen pepperoni pizzas for pot roast in our dining room. Instead of receiving a, "you know what to do!" over a dressed-up shoulder, she gets a four hour long conversation about her. And life after college, babysitter's job, babysitter's boyfriend.
I don't mind.
I just wonder if babysitter feels cheated.
Babysitter's traded an eight-year old unknowingly asking racist and stereotypical and far too sexual questions for her age for a fourteen-year old who eats cookie after cookie [calorie after calorie] for something to do while
words trump actionWhen I'm wheelchair bound,
you can bet you'll be around
'Cause I don't have to shout
to drown out my actions
I never need to use my touch,
just a still whispering hush
Echoes in our connected eyes
although we're frozen in time.
Motion to typed text in haste,
those heavy footsteps have a space.
Our library's always cramped,
but there's no house for the mimes.
Words open your mouth in awe.
Fights dislocate your jaw.
But you know words can break
what a punch never could.
Further respect laden silence,
than epitomes of violence.
Bloody misunderstandings what we're left with
when we refused to end the quiet.
So when I'm wheelchair bound,
you can be you'll be around
'Cause I don't have to shout
to drown out my actions.
Secret Santa 'shh'moon's the spectator for an ethereal world
brings frigid gusts
adds vampiric cloak of midnight
almost as a suggestion
the sun chases the shadow
blinding it with fiery passion
scorching the frost the litters its sky
and outshining the twinkiling smoldering stars
flaring brightly, it seeks to diminish all the moon's
yet there is that split second
both trying to outdistance the other
that the sky becomes a home for two
dear my wishesdear you,
i didnt wish for you at 11:11
but i was thinking of you
does that count?
im watching snow float haphazardly
holding my breath until it safely meets the ground
feeling like ive intruded upon its dance
the streetlamps' reflecitve glow its stage
no earthly mortal seated in the audience
am i watching you right now?
the frozen water's so pure
i can feel you, see you, taste you
imagining it's you divided into
these destinationless flurries
because it could only be you
i want to draw you into my hands
and protectively, singuarly listen to the silent lullaby
your decent is making
your observer, admirer, friend, constant
love from me
the snow's hidingi can only snag glimpses
of reclusive snow
in the glare
of flourescent streetlamps
the best show residing outside
my blotched line of 15/20 vision
isn't just words 'scoff'love isnt just words, they say
its the way you say them
the way im changing the pitch of my voice
moving it up and down like a pencil on paper
drawing a hand cradling your cheek or
capturing the runoffs trailing out from your palm
when you talk it's jumbled erotic nothing
every word excited splatter painted breathlessness woven with
spontaneous blotches racing to escape
but i'm content in this finger painted masterpiece of a maze
that's love in words
a carved beating musclethere's something so primitive about the jagged bumps
the way it ran off course and was reconnected later
around the time you fended off my onslaught of tickles
im oddly possessive of this assymetrical thing
bending down to reverently kiss the flaking wood
it took you moments to doodle, (others would say vandalize, youd say screw them)
but i can still feel you in the map you drew of my inner metronome
simply because it came from whatever you once were
whatever we once were
dont take your fights seriousanother's fighting with me
hoping to change me
draw out a reaction
it's not the conflict that impacts me
it's who with
youre just flattering yourself
trying to imitate her method
to make me care about what you think
and a year, a year and a half, two years later
hers are still carried by me in personally-signed anniversary cards
to me, from me
i'm still snap-shotting, freeze-framing my failures in
your awkward pauses
full of things you wouldve, shoudlve, could have said
before i cracked us
so i'm copying my failures
presenting one to you with resigned flourish
everytime i spill the milk
and we still dont know what i'm trying to prove
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
The human condition of wanting to be everythingI feel as though I am exhausting
The excess skin around
in loose shadows
Across my cheekbones like
And whilst I find myself
To draw open the blinds
Because the light
is too bright
And I really can’t handle
The pane of the sky
With its obnoxious
glaring at me
With such a joyful expression
I know that lately
I am burning myself out
That I consume one too many
Cans of soda and energy drinks
At 2.45 AM
When the rest of the world
Is static in a hushed
Whilst I frantically try
To achieve something
Is too much
Or rather too
An existence for me
So I will continue
In order to
Try and destroy myself
Enough so that
I can be w h o l e
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
To the BeautifulYou say we're beautiful,
Us who have been bullied...
But where were you while it was happening?
-I was watching-
You who say "This has to stop!",
There needs to be an end to this...
What are you doing to stop it?
-I did nothing-
It's too late now...
-I failed you-
of me and youthe day you stopped touching me was the day i
stopped speaking to myself. and the silence nearly killed me
LuckyYou talk like you always have a grain of salt,
to throw over your shoulder.
Every word is that hard cheese,
and they swing those whimsical wishbones much like carousels.
You're wasted on your self-image,
staggering down with rigorousness you don't own.
They're taking that steed and throwing horseshoes,
as if one of them might ring 'round your neck;
and save you from yourself.
You'll need a necropolis filled with pennies to barter,
and we won't lend a cent to save your sorry soul.
Your demons count clovers to kiss you,
gluing that fourth leaf to camouflage the truth.
They'd promise you an elephant to watch you die,
sucking sevens to keep you from entering Heaven.
And you can sing your superstitions into space,
but it's dead and empty.
Somewhat like the hollow shell you lounge in,
as the charms make you see spirits.
You say somewhere there's a rabbit dying to give its foot in your favor...
...but don't bet on it unless you can see that whites of its eyes.
please PLEASE pleaseplease, please
i care and i cant hide
screaming sounds tortured
maybe i am
cant you see?
im tired of being
just please realize
i WANT to be here
like crows, black ghosts of nightmares
fly on wings of dreams, of fears
the dreams arent theirs
the dreams yield to no master
the crows own nothing
thier cries are still the inspiration
for our own.
we command, we control
now if only the same could be said
for my life
if i could see where it led
i dont want to burn
feel the flame, lick, crack, taunt
your face appears
laughs, walks away
as everything peels away
the layers vanishing
i become nothing
just the same as i always have been
gates close, golden chimes receede
the flames claim ownership
i burn, you watch, and do nothing
my screams take the form of the crow
nightmares of mazes
screams, crows, mine, yours, intermingle
i run, but get farther away
not running away, but not running backwards
just deeper into re
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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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