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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.
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.
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.
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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