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cerebrum.if it's midnight already and i can't feel you anymore,
it's because you're savoring the taste of someone else;
or maybe it's because you're just lost in all the shades of blue,
the word "farewell" comes in so many colors.
if you've climbed too high and still haven't found a signal,
it's because my thoughts are lost somewhere in jupiter's storm
or maybe it's because i'm asleep on a train
heading far, far away from you.
i took a metaphor literally once when i cut you out of my life
with a pair of rusty black-handled scissors and every picture that i had of us.
it never seemed to work, i could never chase you out of my head,
and that was when i realized that you lived there.
you're everything and nothing i've learned in history class,
about guillotines and revolutions,
and if i know one thing, it's that you're surely not a Saint
and no sir, i will not love you.
do you think of me?my words never turn out right
when i put them on paper,
like every time i tried to tell you
i wanted you closer;
the only thing i want -
the only thought that keeps me up at night
rattling at the bars in the cage of my mind
begging to be set free
is being in your arms;
and the worst mistake i ever made
was pushing you away,
because i never meant it at all;
if this is the start of a new day
do you think i could be yours?
all these lines i've written
have blurred into one;
words don't have meaning
without someone to read them,
and i can't just press send.
in this scene you're just an extra.i've compiled my thoughts
into a song
with tender mellowed notes
of caressing fingers and tongues
in every lyric;
sung for you by my wings -
each feather lifting me up
and dragging me down,
eating away before it falls off
like a cancer i could take with me
beneath my fingernails if i touched it.
and if i ever needed you
i could watch you walk away -
without sympathy for my aching lungs
letting loose note after note;
you would leave like a strange soldier
leaving for a new battle,
not once looking over your shoulder to see
if i followed the footsteps you left
in wet concrete.
i never did,
my feet turned into mirrors
and reflected your motions;
the father away i got from you,
the closer i was to water -
the clear solution of salvation
that could save me from your memory.
i survived.i am from a yellow slide in my backyard.
i am from fresh-brewed iced tea
and monday night tv.
i am from the strawberry-place.
i am from the pink and green cushions
the yellow high-heeled shoe
i remember sitting on so many nights.
i'm from six-dollar lunches,
and the shack next to the river,
from paths in the woods and
a marathon down my street.
i'm from knuckle smacks with a ruler
and notebooks full of doodles,
from my brother's tests taped to the fridge.
i'm from faithless sleeping in sundays,
with criticisms logged
and bruised pride.
i'm from a broken love,
dinners on the deck
with the sound of air conditioners whirring.
from chasing squirrels up and down a swingset
to the treetops.
i am from blue skies and green fields,
and I'd like you to know:
gold dust.his lips were soft,
so lovely and irresistible-
his kiss woke the day
and shattered the night,
tracing letters on my skin
and entwining his fingertips
in the auburn cascades
of my hair.
as he pressed himself
closer to me,
i couldn't help but
close my eyes and
blind myself to everything
but his gentle touch
and the feeling of
his body against mine.
gold dust fell where
our lips met,
marking the path behind us
and carrying us beyond-
turning our wounds to
the faint pink lines
of scar tissue:
memories we won't
a kiss upon his cheek.he didn't have a smile
anywhere near his lips.
his expression was blank,
and his eyes were etched from glass;
'i don't care'
they said carefully,
like an unsure whisper.
i don't know why,
but this boy was like nicotine,
like a foggy dream.
he was my rescue,
with warning lights flashing
as he came to my escape.
he didn't have a smile on his lips,
but i wanted them anyway.
i should have never loved you.in that one moment, i wanted to stand up and hit him: i wanted to make him hurt, make him bleed, make him feel what he did to me. make him feel his lies and deceit, push it into his skin like a knife and letting the scarlet lies pour out for everyone to see.
every little lie, every "mia bella" came back to haunt me. every word that idly dripped out of his mouth that caressed and cared for me turned black and shriveled like a dead flower.
because every time he kissed me, he lied.
i can't believe i just let him string me along like that. he just turned me into some sort of flesh-and-blood puppet, tossed me around and stepped on me like garbage put on the curb for tuesday night pickup. he put me in a plastic bag with old coffee grounds and used condoms from a night when i wasn't there.
i should have never loved him.
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