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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
Unworthy This, Unworthy That
Forgive me in the times of each day
when I come to see my truer colors.
The less suitable ones that bring down a godly smile.
My efforts to betterment have yet to cease,
and I've nob intent on making such an appointment.
They wait like thieves and murderers,
mere inches from my soul, in wake and slumber,
outnumbering me and breathing down my aching
neck whilst I struggle to breathe
the purer air I am deprived of.
Though cognizant of my sins,
they are doubtlessly committed by a guilty
consciousness which has been undermined with a
pride that bear in deep shame as opposed
to a better way to walk.
The list will be long, as you,
as with all things, are more the perfectly aware.
I am the guilty by my own confession,
and grace is a concept that is greatly welcome
and unconditionally existent in the presence of my unworthy soul.
I know not why i write what is already known to Omnipotence
perhaps a confessional to my one and only
King who spared me the eternity of fire and ice
in a realm witho
Broken ChordMy heart alone is a instrument in God's temple
Playing songs of worship for hours and hours
But then the chord breaks and music cannot be played
Have to get the chord fixed, but too sad to fix it right now
That one broken chord; curled and twisted
Can I ever play music right now?
The tragedies of this world makes it seem impossible to play
Then nothing but tears roll down for there is no songs playing
The broken chord that used to play many songs
The broken chord that used to play songs of worship for hours and hours
My heart broken and nothing but songs of tragedy plays
Songs of brief tragedy plays in the haunting silence
Tears roll down my eyes and wonder if I will ever play songs again
But in the grace and love of my God
In all the things He can do
He takes the broken chord and just smiles at it
There's nothing He cannot do
The chord maybe plucked and no more music can be played
But the Lord himself plays His songs on a broken chord
Song of worship reenters my heart from a broken ch
StrongLifting all the weights in the world and train to a pulp
Thinking the world can rest in the palm of my hands
Not giving a care in the world
Bench pressing the world and pouring out sweat
Studying all day and all night
Hitting those books and jogging the miles in knowledge
The world is in the palm of my hand
Sweating out with the strength of moving walls
But as the pressure gets too much; there is always aching
The strength that make one stronger than oak starts to fade
Crawling on your knees when the pressure gets too much
The pressure is unbearable and you can’t do anymore
But my God gives me faith that can move mountains
My God has no limits to His own strength
My God releases the pressure and puts it on Himself
My God has no limits
My God is stronger than the roots of the mighty oak
My God is stronger than the volcanic rocks
My God is stronger than metal chains that binds me together
My God is stronger than any superhero in 30 pages
My God is stronger even on that day on Calva
The Heart of HeartsI have seen the fire that burned creation into being,
Heard the song of the universe at it's beginning.
I have known home in the heart of hearts,
I have been eternal in a sea of stars.
When we are born we know that we are one,
Yet as we grow we are taught to become,
So profoundly alone
So lost to ourselves,
We will buy anything to save our souls from this hell,
We will work to the bone and empty our shell
With hate and lies, an inability to recognise
Ourselves in each other, in each flower, in each lover.
We do so weep when we are wrenched apart
Yet we are one in the heart of hearts.
And forever, without care,
We are and will always be there.
Is more of a choice
Than a feeling
It is hard
Fear and doubts
Try to smother it
And to cover it
It takes a choice
Not to listen
To those fears
And to those doubts
It is hard
It is worth it
It frees you
From those fears and doubts
There is the ultimate hope
In something more than this world
That is true and faithful
That loves no matter what
Who is there all the time
It is that hope
That keeps me going
Day in and day out
And I would not
Have it any
Blessings in the StormThrough the shadow
Of the storm
There is light to be seen
Even though it is raining
The light can be seen
Behind the clouds
As this storm continues
I feel Your love
I know that
You still care
About my family,
About my dreams
Big or small
You shower me
That I never thought possible
Or in a way that was not expected
There in none like You
You are my Love, my Lord
And my Savior
You are my Daddy
And I am Your princess
And I know You love me
More than I can love You
You gave me
Life, love, and light
There is none that equals You
You have given me
Dreams to explore
A talent to show Your love to others
And hope to keep me
Faith to stand the valleys and mountains
Hope to keep moving forward
Love, the greatest of these, to give to others
Like You have given me
13lightning boiled my frontal lobes
i can feel it
dripping down my cheekbones,
no-longer-neurons, an ejaculation
uncertain rooted in unthought
define boundaries; far as the eye can see
but no further and sigh complacently
no more bumping into buzzing barbed wire
How to Build a Soul1 Know that you are lost
victim to a world of chaos
[don't allow yourself to resign]
2 Close your eyes
put aside lies born of senses
[explore virtues of being blind]
3 With deep breaths, calm
the turbulence inside
[stirred from workings of mankind]
4 Detach yourself
discover a new perspective
[nothing is real save the mind]
5 Circumvent your desire,
anger, pain, and happiness
[take note and leave it behind]
UnityWe are unique
Each and everyone
But we still are the same
We have different
Skin colors, eye colors,
Hair colors, speech,
Body style, and many others
No matter what
We look like
There is something
That brings us together
Something that unites us
A goal that is the same
And the same direction
That something is Jesus,
Who we have choosen
To be our savior
For all eternity
We have Him in common
No matter our backgrounds
Or our personal views
On the world
We all are different
But we all work towards
The same goal
To show His love
And to tell others about Him
It isn’t easy to keep
Because of fleshly desires
And start to stray
We stray because
We look at others
Through our eyes
And not God’s
We justify our prejudices
To make ourselves better
But it causes problems
Which breaks the unity that we strive towards
We need to walk our path
With humbleness and meekness
And loving one another
We cannot love one another
Until we learn to love
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
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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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