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Scarecrow Green W. Body ImageSCARECROW
the trees are still green.
ive got a boy in each ear screaming in a strained falsetto, "find god, then fuck, rub war paint over your collar and choke those dreams of adolescent fancy!"
maybe not in that order.
i feel that those might be reasonable demands.
if not, ill stay a virgin forever and stop posting my barely lucid projections on cross walk buttons so the world can join me in confusion.
ive decided to marry myself to this moment, a rubber band ring on my finger and everything.
i cant tell if theyre asking for a fire or a union.
all i can hear is sex and murder, a whisper of masturbation.
the feral cry signifies a busted climax so maybe these boys are in love and the songs merely rut against each other.
its a valid enough theory.
a part of me hopes that they become beautiful monsters when the lights go out.
for them my heart goes.
today ive decided not to believe in love.
its a silly little thing, not suitable for children my age
"just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
im jotting this down overlooking stairs to the concrete people playing evergreen games until the grass hits and feet sink against the movement.
my fear is the position to topple into bodily harm, she told me because my statements were laced, hardly contrary to the truth. and my knees are buckling, body sways forward and panic spray paints my senses 'til they're all bright yellow. i fall backwards on my ass, knees pressed tight to my chest so i can breathe normal again.
luckily no ones noticed that its happened for the third time tonight.
it might be a bit cliche to proclaim myself toeing the edges of our small existence 63 percent of the time.
eyes closed and learning how to meditate, recite the best poem ever written to the better half of my memory that sits in the dark until special moments when i wish to remember how to make decisions based on my mistakes.
this is different.
im listening to someone else's favorite song, strike to my ski
Sunglassesi look down and my hands are clasped, the light washing over them in broken stretches, intervals like broken clockwork. fingers interlocked atop the plaid fabric draped down and around my hips.
for the past hour or so ive been writing in my head.
about boys and girls.
those who i have, haven't, should've and desperately want to kiss. im 16, so honestly, theres nothing else for me to write about.
i wanted to start this with a sentence in my mental draft that would state, more or less, 'i tell him i love him but im not sure by what definition i hold it, perhaps whichever he feels it to be.'
something like that.
its about a boy who ive kissed despite knowing just how much i should not have. because my decision making skills are just about as flawed as my parents' are.
i guess i wouldve gotten all poetic about it too. about the songs hes sang to me and how hes just a stepping stone that i paused at, knowing it was merely 'til i truly get what i want (sniff, i say, 'what i had'), but no mat
Blackbirdthe sound of breathing over labored guitar chords.
he says 'rooftop', i think E minor, maybe binary code.
its just that simple.
with an arpeggio inhale and the positioning of awkward fingertips.
now hes humming something i cant discern and the song is supposed to be about lonliness, he says, a thin mouth tilted up in the corner.
'lovely melancholy' i say to myself.
but i hear moonlight and silver glinting off earlobes, hollowed in the dark.
dont believe theyre lonely, more but reaching out from the edges.
scribbles in the corner of papers with outstretched arms, to use figurative language.
a tendency to ask what i am writing, always thinking it be about himself (8th grade memories floating like notebook paper, i remember, small smile and bright eyes.)
right now the sound is repetition, shifting soft and to a feeling--green grass like comforters and arena seating.
and i can hear what this is asking for, a mirror imaged and a sideways glance through crowds.
to break his concentration, th
Counter Topi need to make that night seem more poetic when i write it down.
inject some sorry romanticism into those few moments.
felt like i had no face and even with the lilt of eyebrows, creases in the corners of my forced smile, the expression wouldnt have mattered anyway.
they dont explain it to you in those middle school classes.
the overwhelming sense of power found in sometimes hazel eyes, bright in dimly-lit rooms.
yet crippled in knowing how these things tend to mean nothing.
how my knees give out and quiver.
how in the minutes before, my lips mirrored the action, trying not to weep for the need of piteous decisions.
and voices are obsolete.
but breathing means everything.
i might actually call that my own, unless imagination runs wild and my skin goes blank for an open canvas---close your eyes and see anyone else you want to hold.
theres nothing at all beautiful to see when i let myself be picked apart for the sake of wanting someone i cant have, even when hes looping his perfect finge
Criss-Cross Designthe light has then adjusted
some twenty times since
weve been staring
with hair caught behind cold ears
and the irises expanding
for there is no way
to go blind in these rooms
with white-washed vision
blotting out dark figures
as they might rise slowly
in some distance
but you might switch these lines
to different angles
looking out windows
see the dull drone
of brown eyes
against brick walls
im writing your movement
as i stare at this pen
conjuring some demon
kill you dead
with the unrelenting desire
of this swirling madness
out the tip and over the page
so i could draw the distance
of just where you migh
be looking and write
those lines back to my eyes
and my mouth
because they are both open, staring
as you look anywhere but for me
Adenei've got a safety pin fastened through a collar and a name i dont know fit under the swollen rasp of my dry tongue.
the name like peril, little girls in sunday dresses, celestial in the songs they sing.
as if i knew that definition.
maybe stringing descriptions along branches and stuck with metal points, rusting red through the sides.
spelling out letters with stick tips in teh dirt and memorizing lines on her knees, with her hands upon the ground.
with hair threaded through like loops about her fingertips, passed through pink tinged lips and breathin in her air through filters, left there speechless.
reflecting the sun and leaving their sketches on tree trunks.
the countours gold, eyes closed and blind to the moment.
spit at her feet and found mud squished through toes, causing dissension among the ranks.
and she speaks quietly to the pins in her shoulders that whatever youre seeing, its not happening.
i say Adene, you draw a picture and the lines overlap.
running like water.
We Can See Thisive found out that these lives are like movies and the voices set are scripted pieces of beauty.
my gaze, taciturn, green grass in graveyards.
lifting his chin with the tips of my fingers.
as if holding the pose, fighting breath under water.
and walking away, found an exit through hanging branches of willows wilting in the heat of some lost summer.
the glances then fashioned are disguised 'round my fingers in trying to remember why i could not look away as he tread over flowers, skipping over their stories held in the words chipped into cold stone.
unless laying on the park bench and closing my eyes, finding letters encrypted in the stones thrown at my feet.
if set to the chorus of the soundtracks so celluloid, you could find our names up in the lights of grocery store tabloids.
because we are stars.
pretending out way through the moment of fake love, shielding faces from sunlight in late afternoons.
Hair Clip in Those Bedroomsdarling
i can hear the quirk in your voice
so i know its not okay
and im not gonna tell you i approve
but hes gone on an ego trip
and it extends beyond the hours of jet lag
that pulls you into his arms
from whence he might throw you upon the ground
to hear his drunken hero stories
the fatigue breathes alcohol into his thoughts
and theres that girl that we know
the one that i love more than the world
who whispers two names into everyones ear
and plays off the repercussions as her innocence
so lets all nod and call this okay
i remember the summer
when we smiled
as they played out the night in the comfort of bedrooms
it was okay wasnt it
the dialogue of deception
and hes lining your ears with it
its not the soar of piano concertos
and sonnets spoken with the bow of stringed instruments
if he looks you in the eyes with sunflowers in your vision
know to stare away
because is it not preconceived in the hours that he travels back in time
back to you
to whisper that hes not sure of what you ar
Abuse of powerTo those who humiliate;
You forced him to the ground and you laughed.
You made him beg. You gave him no other option.
“Beg boy beg” you commanded
You were in power, and you knew it.
To those who are of influence
Why did you take from him his voice?
Why do you make it
So that no one could speak up?
So no one would WANT to speak up?
Do you think you are the law?
and above it?
Because it’s you.
You you you
You who are in power, yet you abuse your part
You had all these people, who would have followed you, who DO follow you
You had a kid who drowned under your authority, your negligence
He didn’t have to die
And his parents won’t press charges
Because it’s you and you didn’t hold him under.
He didn’t have to die
And yet he did.
Whispers in the nightI am a pianist in the shadows of mist and cold air.
Come to me, lost hearts, and drink my soul from the smooth leaves of sweet music.
Plunge into ecstasy from the cliffs of reason and sink into in my realm of dreams.
Savor the soft kisses of my pianissimo as I whisper my secrets closely into your ears.
Drink in the thirst quenching scales as I run down my fingers across your spine.
Feel the breath of my pedaling on the surface of your smooth skin as our legs intertwine.
Cringe in terror as I grab your heart with my thunderous chords.
Enter through the doors of perception and breathe in my desires.
Embrace them and carry to my grave your sighs of joy.
Lets smile and awaken from the abyss to the melody of our love.
Did TheyDid they wait for you
with galaxies at their fingertips
did they trace the universe with their eyes and tell tall tales
as they beckoned you closer
did they know you?
or did they drop you off on a barren planet
somewhere between who you were and where they wanted
you came up with a thousand excuses of
why they vanished from this plane
any sign they had loved you burned deep within your soul
the searing pain a remembrance of how they branded their names across your sky
Did they tell you why?
CuddlingOne of the best feelings in the world
The joys of having your arm around you girl
Just being with the person that makes you happy
That one person The makes you forget your troubles
And just smile
Looking in to her eyes
thinking she is a keeper
Come by silence
Come by shouts
Come by doors
You’ll all mock
These pristine halls
By way of God
Do I lie still
Here; sat; upon my crown
Wreathe in fire
blessed by light
I’ll strike you down
Each with holy might
Stand before me
Speak your words
I’ll hear you bark
Your innocence; a curse
Condemned by trial
Lynched by peers
Shot at the wall
and carcass toss to whales
Set forth the hour
The hour of the wolf
By night this raven flies
clutched by fear
it brings ill news, news I’ll hear
I read these words
Your doom mocked nigh
With laughing death
I’ll strike three times
With swords I’ll judge
and breathe flame-bit tongue
To bring your end
Laughing all the while
I’ll have my cup of tea now.
No Pain no Gain"I've been left alone again
but to lose is to find,
pain is to gain."
My state of mind
has not been slain.
Hubcaps And MiceCythlomania, it's just a useless word,
Something that's less a pain
Than a meaningless gain
In my emotive stance on the world...
If you to me cannot relate
Well it's already quite late,
So get out and don't call back -
Get out, get out,
Take all your pointless stuff
Or I'll hit it real rough
And toss you down a hill.
Get out, get out,
Take this useless service
That I think is piss
And toss it down a hill,
Because I'm tired of you being emotionally insensitive
So ready to jump in and hurt me,
So ready to pitch in unabashedly,
So get out, get out,
Please, before I ask again
Because we really can't be friends,
So throw yourself downhill.
Get out, get out,
Or I'll take all these words
And throw them like dead birds
All the way downhill,
And I'm tired
So goddamned tired
Of your false empathy
Being a stuck up lackey.
To all your words
There are no returns
So get yourself away.
Get out, get out,
Before I call the cops
Because, before you drop
I need you to roll down hill-
Silent DancersThe unexplained flash of light on steel, I’ve become used to it by now
Don’t slow down, it’s not too late
Not sunrise, not sunset, unexplainable phenomenon
Don’t taint your vision with this impurity
Just stand there, stand there, let it cut through you
If you act helpless, don’t allow it to take over
Crumbling or in perfect shape, don’t question its quality
I was born in that world that took hold of me
And marked me with the kiss of death
Morning brings another battle
Ah, have mercy on my pain!
Dance, dance, don’t stop, continue on
If you twirl the pain will go away
If you wish to cry out, do so in silence
We are the marionettes in a silent dance
Cross over, cross over, cross under, cross over, cross under me
Let the chains wreak their havoc on my world
I couldn’t care less about their frail opinions
In a world where personality no longer exists
Let it take over you
The mix of euphoria and despair, I
Melting Into My Sighttoday it rained, hard and cold and making puddles everywhere
the concrete glistened maybe shone with the
wet sparkle of small pools left here
and there-- with ripples sounding
through windows, hiding in the sky
i stood on the cool set of grey
beneath frozen toes in broken shoes
and watched through curtains
of small and shiny bullets
falling from air
my eyes wandered through the scope of staircases
how they differentiate
cracks and bruises of something
supposed to be unbreakable
when i lay underneath and hope
i do not die
before fully realizing the extent
of self-imposed importance through streams of misery
but everything is grey--even
being as it is
and i can hear the sound
of tires arbitrarily sliding
over wet ground
and again i hope i do not die
suspended above them
flying away from scattered phobias
just like wet leaves on the ground
everything reminds me of my mortality
and absent faith
how i dont wish to meet fallibility with unseeing eyes
girls crying, those who think im beautifu
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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