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you arei want a city ruined
every time you love me.
i want to show how loudly i shake,
enough to break
faults and how it will never be yours,
and bring down skylines
when you aren't here.
there are seven weeks until my blood runs blank,
but it is so full tonight
it could drown a man.
i hope it drowns you,
the way it carries the only beautiful thing about me
my heart, my love.
it's time you pull together
your telephone wires and breathe stars
back into my body-
it was so dark without you.
there was no moon,
just the kind of black
you know could be no emptier.
i am effulgent again
with the ways i've needed to feel,
i am bursting with fire
instead of hurting, i heal,
and i'm still bright enough
to be burning like god speaks.
i myself speak too loud.
it's what happens at night when i let you love me
and my body writhes with glee
over something it has never known.
i'm afraid to wake the neighbours, or the sisters i'm loving as my own.
when i'm embarrassed by myself,
i won't ask you to hold
bipolar IIa week is spent
in throes of excitability,
irritation, unstoppable words,
and ideas with wings of their own-
they soar in their preternatural flight
without a second's notice
and meander along separate currents.
sleep is an elusive,
fought for so ruthlessly,
only to have it slip away,
mere hours later.
i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and flying til my fingers can
brush the sun.
i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and watching my feathers drop
until my body
is subject once more
to the relentless rules of gravity.
hitting the dirt
hurts more every time-
physics has no mercy for bruised bones.
refusal to meet my mother's gaze,
to speak when spoken to,
and to move from the cave of my bedroom
i know how the sun feels
when it sinks below the earth,
and the struggle of the moon
as it thrashes to rise.
the endless circle
from night and day
grows so tiresome that sometime,
it will just
a letter to ethanyou're fifteen minutes away.
that's a quarter of an hour, that's ten miles, that's space enough that i never have to see you again.
but still i feel my heart beating like a rabbit's foot against my rib.
i'm a girl still in denial
of being a woman with
breasts and hips and a womb.
i'm a child with my heart and i will surrender it foolishly
to the first boy to give me roses and push them into my hair.
i don't know how to love,
the way i don't know how how to stop.
but let me tell you this- it happens.
they both do.
i loved your fragile brown eyes like i'd never seen a warmer fire.
i sank my bones like an anchor to your earthly vessel and called it home.
i staggered home drunk every weekend we were together
by word only.
and i felt myself falling apart when i sighed
with sleepy repetition as we exhausted the same jokes as ever,
just a million miles different.
my mind drifted but i loved you.
the feathered finches in my chest were beat
the first poem i wrote since i told you i love youthe star-soaked stains
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;
it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.
your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
because any space
is space i don't want.
i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.
there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.
if i could, i would never get dressed
so that you could never be sad-
a rewind every time
my clothes touch the floor,
never anything but nude, not naked
because with you i can be bare
i can let you see my entirety
and leave my arms uncrossed,
i can let you in
and not fear that you will break me,
or force my inner things out.
i can love you with open arms
and my lip
between two months is two shorti like to think of you.
sometimes you are a butterfly,
wings stretched back
in long arcs,
bones breaking into flight
behind your protruding chest-
you are beautiful.
i find myself sinking
into the irish kills in your eyes,
the gaps in your smile.
i touch the cauterised cuts
sealed by metal and fire
on the backs of your swollen knuckles
and kiss your crooked lips.
in two months you will leave.
in the wake of st. valentine's sacrifice,
i will send my heart to war with you.
look beneath your pillow
and find it there;
look in the space between your walls
and there it will be;
look within your chest, beside your own heart
and there it will stay.
look me in the eye
and tell me what it's like
to be loved by me;
i want to know that the way
you make my bones ache
with swells of ardor
i want to know that the way
my mouth dips into the
hollow of your neck,
finding its pulse at ease,
100 sunday crosswordsthis is a story of broken pieces
letting go feature by feature;
shattered pieces, ice rain,
and something blacker than sadness
turning from snowfall to knives
and the scarlet ground that follows.
this is about knowing when to stop
but never knowing the time.
because fingers snap louder in the cold,
they shiver and shake, shiver and shake
until the tremours turn to bone
and you feel it when they break.
a century's warning isn't enough to prepare for an earthquake;
a thousand years is still a blink when the last sinews
there is nothing welcome about the open air
and how it bites your exposed skin,
its teeth sharpen and gnash,
dull enamel that scrapes,
and the bleeding won't tell you
how it stops.
just because you have spent a hundred sundays
pouring over the globe's crosswords
doesn't mean you'll find that eight letter word,
for a warning sign of dissipation.
you will never see the end nearing,
you will never know when to stop,
i swear you will,
feel the way the
an open letter to a rekindled relationshipwe have travelled thousands of miles;
we have felt spite and fear for diminished feelings;
we have played this game for far too long.
last night we missed hearing others' poetry
to make our own.
i was not afraid of skin,
and you were not afraid to feel.
we were born with instinct for a reason:
realising what you want is half the battle.
my other half is hesitation-
my other half is you.
i still swell with emotions my therapist
can't help me label
when i remember how you said
you weren't over me.
and how we joined again,
with an interim year,
and a new understanding of emotion
adding to and balancing the physical.
last night i put my skin in your hands;
i gave it with trust.
i left my nerves in my clothes and i shed them,
on the floor,
and spent time with initiation and impulse.
the bruises on my throat a result of passions,
i smile as i shield them from familial eyes.
the weight of a year has opened my bones
and a heart that is ready to
this is less of a love poem and more of athere is something to be said
about resisting the temptation
to start out with a bang.
the hallway of your neck
has never lost its scent
and it's something, i swear,
i swear, i can never forget
because it's something surreal
to wake up while you're asleep
and feel you pull me closer
til our faces almost meet-
hold onto that almost,
hold onto it like stardust.
you need to touch me in a whisper
because it's been too long
since i've felt the hand of someone
who actually meant it,
someone who actually meant something
and i'm so glad, my god,
i'm on my knees
i am praying to(o,) my god
that we won't burn out so quick this time,
i'm too tired to bear new scars
i just want you to love me
but that's not something i could ever ask.
just some time maybe,
i know that no august moon can watch us forever
and keep us warm,
and no constellation can teach me everything
i've ever needed to know.
but everything ugly i ever saw about you
and everything unflattering?
it's gone like the magic we
why jk rowling embodies depression as dementorsi wanted to talk to you about happiness
but i don't think anyone in this room is qualified to talk about something
they probably don't know much about, and
how it spends most of its time
seeping out of your skin in whatever ways it can
because maybe your body is too toxic for it.
that's when you start having your moment.
the moment when you're not sure
how to be alive,
when strings become nooses
in the stars of your eyes,
thin objects mock your bones
and the instruments of your heart
act like knives thirsting for blood.
pavement shatters underfoot.
the cracks become teeth,
sharp and unfriendly as you pass;
they're grey, great sheaves of skin.
the world is alive, but unfriendly and cold.
so we sink back into what we're used to.
the way settling into sadness
is like settling into bed after a long day.
so they put you on everything they can find.
prozac, where you stayed miserable.
abilify, where you stayed miserable.
seroquel, where you stopped eating
when being treated for having stoppe
12 : fuck"let's forget for a moment that love doesn't exist and rainbows don't last forever," he whispered, running his hand along the curve of her waist. she choked down a,"but i can't," and pulled him close to her. it's hard for her to remember that his heart doesn't beat for love when he kisses her collarbone and the smell of rainwater makes her dizzy.
"i want you, ohgodiwantyou." and she couldn't help but hope that maybe he wanted her for more than one reason.
he called it
"fucking" and she whispered,
rubatosisand then there is you with your
sweetness and your smiles,
how you hold me close
and your fingers on my back,
your fingers laced with mine, unhidden.
there is you with your voice, you
with your kisses, you with your words,
and i do not know how i slipped
in but i hope to stay.
how do you
learn a brand new language
that demands directness, when
all i've ever known is the
quiet and averted gazes, just
the uncomfortable feeling
of existing? i am learning the
nuances in your looks
and the inflections of your touches
but there is a fluency i cannot
grasp--the easy accents of
your heartbeat does not transcribe
well into mine: too loud, too
sharp, too staccato, erratic and
nervous. i live my life in parentheses
and everything i don't say
lies in your hands, even if you
don't know it.
i guess what i am
trying to say is i miss you.
learning to speak, andmy sunflowers are missing their skin. cancer-ridden, their halos exhausted, they limp from the field. i would have been for you.
i tried editing myself, becoming more troublesome. i nursed the belief that it was synonymous with desirable. the understanding of reality as it is. the clemency of memory, that it selects its captives wisely.
i am the nadir of worry, without the exotic emancipation of soul. i have soul. i have trouble. it just doesn't translate.
i can wield books. i can as prospero imitate the whisper of logic and the knowledge of nature. i can make myself anew on any island.
then again what is magic without an audience. what is transformation without recognition.
yatha-bhuta nana-dassanasatori becomes her. of the times
when she'd pick up twigs we say little,
or nothing. she would say they dreamed too
of being trees.
she felt the shock of alchemy
as seeing a sunflower for the first time.
i never knew what she was to me. on the eighth day
after my grandfather died she committed herself
to sky. loved it savage.
she'd say another twig dreams of being a tree, and
spread herself across the ground, and she'd say
gravity will give me up yet.
that was her grand plan. sprawled over the earth, becoming a twig.
planting herself, saying gravity will tire of me.
on the seventy-third day after my grandfather died
she came to me with her left foot suspended in air, flushed triumphant.
how much closer she would be
to the migration of sky. soon her right foot followed
vague in its twiglike nothing-weight. a hazy silhouette
of migrant girl, this too was her grand plan. for self-conquest,
sated by starving of the world.
glutted on atmosphere and dreams of being a tree.
on the ninety-seco
How to know we are in loveI want to walk side by side with you under the stars,
Hold hands with you under the candle light,
Let my mind waver when you hold me close,
The way my heart soars at the sight of your smile.
When I speak I could see your eyes come alive,
Your kind face echoing expressions of everything I like.
And you always take your time when you do arrive,
Making me screaming warm and everything inside.
I laid in bed this day and thought of you,
The trees fluttered with the wind as I missed you.
I know it isn't going to be very long,
But I think this is how we know we are in love.
LimitsIn my heart, I know the depths of reasoning for the existence of our connection is simply infinite. And I know that the most beautiful sunsets are accompanied by the most painful deaths, and with the most beautiful sunrises come the most elegant rebirths. My existence is nothing more than the rebirth after my death; I had been left unfinished long ago.
Uncertain in the truths I was meant to know, I had embarked on a journey that would bring me to teachers and these teachers would lead me home. My death came in peace, and my life would mimic this path. In essence, this is why it is innate for my soul to gravitate towards yours. I love you because you fill the voids in me that have
always been empty.
sentamentalitiesyou remembered the song
that was playing the
first time my bed
became our bed
other in it,
even though i didn't remember and
last night at four in the morning
your stepbrother told me he was
glad that i was part of the family.
and he hoped i would be for a long time,
and he said you were lucky to have me.
and that some days your head is so far
up your ass that you can't see it and
i know. and he said i've just got to bear
with you because you love me.
maybe one day i will get tired of treading
water that chokes me but for now
i am grateful for you and the troubles
you pose. i love you.
to be forgotten.he was born in september, and he died in the fall.
he traded the stars for cigarettes and memories for madness, because there was something about the way she looked at him that tore out his heart and left it suffocating on the rotten railroad tracks a few miles south of the river.
he could hold his breath in his hands, but he never in his life managed to catch it.
he lived through the eyes of still-life photographs, because he refused to let reality pass him by as it did the days they spent entwined together like satellites and the night sky.
he looked upon her face with tunnel vision, but the light he found in the end was just another train.
he painted his days with "i can't"s and "i won't"s and "oh, i should have never"s, because there was nothing more empty and draining than the feeling of his ribcage rising and falling with no one to rest her fingers on the spaces in between.
he believed they could weave a world of diamonds, but their promises were nothing b
regret.there is a certain time of night
that every song on the static radio
makes me cry,
and i want to break my skin
and pull you back in again.
and it is then
and only then
that the loveliest memories
strangle my lungs,
and i remember
sobbing into your pillow at 3am
because i felt so alone,
and you turned out the lights
and held me close
until i could breathe again.
and i swear i would be fine
if that night could be tonight.
here i am,
alone and alive,
and i don’t have a place
in your head or in your bed,
so let me share with you instead
these lessons i've learned in regret.
i know now
you only touched me
how you were programmed to touch.
i was just another machine
life without youi watched you,
battered and floral
suitcase in hand,
as your knotted tree-branch fingers
grip the doorhandle.
i watched you
before the door swung
i saw your thin skin
slip between pavement
and cracks in the concrete
your keys sunk through
the hole in your pocket
and are sitting at the
side of the sink,
your lunch in the bowels
of the toilet.
i watched your mouth
of broken teeth
spit vitriol soundlessly,
your tendons splitting
from your frame,
you have unravelled into nothing,
i watched you
pack your things and
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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