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Moartea vrabioareiMâinile construiesc
visuri, vise, dorinţe, iluzii.
Colivia de mucegai,
cu pereţii săi negri,
sugrumă şi ultima dorinţă de viaţă
din sufletul vrăbioarei.
Penaju-i tot mizer şi ciufulit,
ochii săi de onix abia ce mai mişcă,
Mâinile ce ar putea să dărâme
stau nemişcate, plictisite.
Visul tacutNecunoscutului ii ard
în timp ce simte, atinge,
Punând mâna pe pieptul visului
atinge văzduhul şi negura vremii.
Moartea tace, timpul trece.
Pendulul încă mai vorbeşte.
Tăcere ce o poţi tăia cu gândul,
precum întunericul coşmarului.
The Last CallBound by shackles
so old, that they,
they have etched their way
under the skin,
no longer to be seen,
always to be beneath my skin.
I see your face in the mirror,
I see mine, I see the other,
I see no one.
The cold, sweet,
tender kiss of the bullet awaits.
It keeps circling my path,
it smiles at me.
The guard shouts:
“Step away heathen,
come right up to the merry-go-round.”
The vile scum I am, I see it now,
in the mirror.
The puddle of water that has become my mirror,
in this hole of a cage.
“The scum, the devilish scum
must cry and cringe.
It must work itself into salvation.”
But there is none, no salvation
to hope for, to wait,
Tis only minutes till they off us,
tis only minutes till the darkness.
We Were Ahead of Our PackBottled tension,
Shards of ice running through my cheeks
and I am still doing alright, doing alright.
Freezing hands, freezing eyes,
freezing bodies that must get closer
to get warmer.
Give me your hand and let me be your lover,
let me hold you when you shiver in spasms
of deathly inner coldness.
Don't go down into the dying light,
don't go down into the dirty mud.
Bottled tension, bottled love,
I stand before you, ready to duel.
My blood runs quicker and quicker,
it's like a train, or an airplane,
running, speeding, flying in my veins.
Amped up speed, dopamine, oxytocin,
I stand there ready with my hand on the holster.
I stare into your eyes, I draw, I shoot, I fall,
Stranger, Stranger, on the wallStrange, cold eyes
not looking at me,
not once, not twice.
Static time with bitter taste of lemon
stalls my growth, my fall.
But from whose grace?
Strange, cold hands
tap away, wave away.
My soul, my dreams are caught,
caught in violet velvet,
only to die,
smothered by your cold, strange hands.
Goddess of LightI saw her there,
The naked goddess.
Her body all covered with blood and honey.
Glitter gold all over the sweat and pale skin.
Shattered glass surrounded her
and wails and tears.
I saw her
as the iron spear went through hips.
She did not weep, she did not beg
all she did was stay and stare.
Her hands, all scars,
old cuts and bruises.
The wrists, the veins,
all covered with new skin
bearing marks of her past.
I did not dare to ask why
and risk her wrath,
I should have asked.
She should have told.
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
Dizzy Girl,you can't cure sorrow. The drops
on the windshield are swallowed
by this traffic's color and you
are just the driver.
Other people pass
with paint blearing,
though I do wish
there was an ending,
questions spark in halos
of low street lamps as you veer
toward the center,
recollections are ceaseless.
She will be at your left and the gust
through the tinted window
will be humid,
you taste her last spirit
in the smoke and
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.
See Through YouHow do you allow for your own eyes to see through you?
Reflections hold no meaning,
when the image cascading back, is just your own ghost.
What unworldly realm did you get lost in?
I remember the touch of white glass, pale skin on your brow.
It shattered so easily, with such a soft touch,
if only the touch you felt, was only the love.
But sheets of burning skin, you have now.
This avalanche of you came crashing down quickly.
It was your emotion not your voice;
that started the cosmos to implode inside you.
Each star died out, and they all winked before they died.
It was this bi-polar you, who had split into two.
Through mitosis you defined your real you.
If only the other half could have been saved,
or maybe it’s lost and stored away?
I want to allow you, to see the person you are to be.
But,no mirror I show you could ever speak true to your own face.
Perhaps one day, your true self will stay.
But for now,
you allow your own eyes to see through you.
Vis de iarnaCâteva coroane, sfântă domniță?
Câteva coroane, brav rege?
Să pot și eu să cumpăr ceva de mâncare
pentru mine, pentru familia mea.
Să îmi schimb zdrențele de pe mine,
să îmi iau o cârpă să m-acopăr.
Dați-mi două minute din viața dumneavoastră
să vă spun povestea mea.
Scumpă domniță îmbracată în mătăsuri fine
vă puteți despărți de ceva galbeni?
Un miros de scorțișoară umple bătrâna stradă
acoperită de o pătură de ninsoare
Clădirile ponegrite se apleacă încet înspre mine
parcă să mă sufoce, parcă să mă încălzească.
O, tu Lună amară, pleacă să vină Soarele.
O, tu iarnă, dispari să se întoarcă ghioceii pe pământ.
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
Keep in Touch!
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