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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
It Is a PrayerEach morning when I wake
Before my feet touch the floor
A prayer rings through my mind
Starting the day with boundless hope.
Each day as I walk the halls
Pounded by the daily grind
A prayer pops into my head
Sustaining the energy needed to proceed.
Each evening as I lay to rest
The sun setting and moon aglow
A prayer precedes my slumber
Issuing in dreams of a better day.
Jesus' FaithThe good and faithful servant
is the one
who trusts Him
is always waiting
for their Master~
for the Masters Voice
I’m living for the Lord
I’m dying for the Lord
I’ll suffer for the Lord
Because He said:
”My God and your God,
My Father and your Father””*
Jesus adopted us into the Family of God
Jesus, our Brother
He did it all for us
He loved God perfectly,
loving us perfectly
and dying to save
Like we deserved to die for our sins
and He took our place on the cross
He took our place in our death
Jesus died for us!
Do you get it?
He really did
“Now even though you die
You will live”**
Just like Jesus did
Just like Jesus did
Cause He had the perfect trust
Christ had the perfect FAITH
God the Father whom the Son came out of His bosom
HE WAS GOD
The ONE GOD
1599 Geneva Bible (GNV)
16 Jesus s
RemoteThe pond eye
drunk with Oklahoma rain
comatose in the yolk
of a centrifuge
is my third
Egrets perch high in sycamores
like leaning lashes.
sickly black oaks
and hold mass at feeder ducts.
Turtles dart beneath the pupil
as cows come blundering
into the inner blue
of a vast
The Dream I Am HavingPerhaps our Easter gathering
is a fool’s beautiful errand.
Maybe it is māyā, all of this,
China ice tea on English saucers,
silver settings for apparitions,
pimento cheese and hummus,
an offering to idols on cream linen relief.
The girls in their lace, and their cousin
rushing from footpath to bamboo garden,
a cache of oracles quick on their shoulders,
they are the brim of all worldly possessions,
though, they themselves are possessors.
I am full and satisfied to sleep in my sleeves
and believe in the dream of my wonderful life.
Truth IsTruth is whatever you make it to be
Truth is whatever makes you feel better about yourself
Truth is just words that causes nothing but pain and no joy
Truth is whatever you make it to be
Multiple truths and little lies
Truth is whatever you believe it is
It's been that way for many years
Why does it matter? Truth is never absolute
Truth is found in songs, television, and art
Truth is praised and preached in a philosophy class
Truth is that God is dead and you can do whatever you want
But in the end, we only confused ourselves
Truth is as Holy Week is about to end, a price was paid before we were born
Truth is in one week, two worlds collided in a way never seen before
Truth is a price was paid through a love that is forever true and unending
Truth is a price was paid when the son of God was beaten and humiliated for us
Truth is that we are just as bad a Judas Iscariot
Even in the small things that we do
But the truth is that because the Son of God died for us, you can have eternal life
Mary Mother of James and Joses: Calvary"Come down off the cross!
I hear them jeering from afar,
as I watch from a distance
how you suffer, forsaken by all.
They taunt and they jeer,
they gamble for your clothes;
no one shows pity,
no compassion anywhere.
Nails have pierced
your hands, your feet,
and blood runs down
your thorn-crowned brow.
If I could but cling
to that cruel cross,
and kiss those blood-stained feet,
and show you someone loves you still -
why am I too afraid?
Come down off the cross -
Why don't you?
I know that you can.
Why do you let them do this to you?
Why do you suffer, forsaken by all?
So many hopes,
so many dreams -
what of them now?
Weren't you the Messiah?
Weren't you the King?
Now you are helpless,
crying in pain,
What becomes of us
when you are gone?
"My God, my God,
why have you forsaken me?"
why are you forsaking us?
Why now, when everything was just beginning?
Why do you let them do this to you?
Why do you suffer, forsa
Daughters of Jerusalem: CryI cry
for you -
for those scars on your back.
for you -
for the cross that you bear.
and for what's soon to come.
I can't bear to look,
and yet I'm staring,
as blood and sweat
pour down your face.
I cry and cry,
I cry for you.
for you -
they say you're innocent.
for you -
they said you'd save us all.
and all those dashed hopes.
You pass - you stop.
You look at me,
as streaming tears
flow from my eyes.
Why do you cry?
Don't cry for me.
Cry for yourselves -
cry for your sins.
for you -
because of their cruelty.
But do I ever cry
when I'm cruel myself?
for you -
for the wrong they were doing.
But do I ever cry
for the wrongs that I've done?
Do I ever see
the wrong path that I'm walking
for the death I am bringing
In your suffering,
in your pain,
you thought first of me.
As they lead you
to your death
you want life for me.
How can I comprehend
this crazy love
that turns a day of mo
Storm CrusherHow does a storm pass?
How does an hour pass?
How does our youth
Our innocence our happiness
If I am torn from life
Let me die.
And I will lie
For ages of men,
Moss creeping over me,
Until I am renewed.
Then I will Spring
From my rest
And declare with
That I have come.
I was torn from life
From Youth from
But the hours and storm
I was torn from life
Through the vice of grief
But I have triumphed.
I prepared myself and now
CyborgÖffne deine Augen
und spiegle mich darin
erkenne meine Wirklichkeit
und suche ihren Sinn.
In deinen hellen Augen,
viel heller als die meinen
Wissen erwacht, Seele entfacht
da will ein Feuer scheinen.
Da will ein Wille Funken sprühen
will die Seele Feuer stieben
will ein Glimmen sich erheben
will ein Herz im Nu erbeben.
Ich allein hab dich geschaffen,
formte dein perfektes Herz
schweißte dich zusammen
und schenkte dir -- den Schmerz.
There's Words To Sellyounger
behind a wall
and staring to the sky
the blue of
a believed heaven
i am forgiven
if i pray
sought in the most
ill beg the figure
hiding behind white
and running through
that this life
i never lost faith
just wondered where
itd always been
when crying for
the music went
nobody had answered
but ill never question it
of false comfort
the skies sleep alone
because this night
is just like every other night
ill curse my pillow
say a name in vain
and wait for tomorrow
never wanting something
the little girl
inside the shed
but a walking book of lies
my eyes are staring
but they no longer hold
i rely on the living
to steal my breath
just like lily did
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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