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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
he leaves with his parents
i think of rushing after him and saying goodbye
and the blow from the absurdity
almost knocks me back into someone else
my fingers freeze and i feel my lungs grow corrupted
but i breathe steadily and try to think about the new year
i feel a sense of dread growing
and the world continues
a chase of laughter and solitary sadness flung together
a sour mix that doesn't sit well on my tongue
frost slicks itself onto my curb
and i find myself hanging on for dear life
not much of a life though
and i can feel my ribs becoming brittle and broken
but no one knows
the air is heavy with heartbreak
most days i want to lie on the floor
and never wake up again
there is not much to say about january
it is so ... january
the scent of him still clings to my skin
it's a voucher, a token
a little souvenir from last year's love
it has been three or four months
part of me is becoming restless
dreamstatecandles shiver, too bright to brave
fading into night and their delicate
pin tip wicks flicker-flash,
dancing in the ocean-tide winds
betraying the presence of
your ghostly breath
you sneak in like a whisper
(you didn’t use to be so quiet)
but now you tip-toe, weaving fog across
mirror edges in my mind and
you are just a moment
past midnight; three (strike.. strike.. strike..)
it is too late to resurrect you
the love-linger of your warm skin
atop mine or revive our
skewed dependent cycle of your
breath in my crushed rose lungs or relive
memories more faded than
darling, it is too late, let me sleep;
I’ll dream of you anyways
YouYou are my why
You are why I want to be here
You are why I love this place
And every day when i see your face
You brighten each day
When you say hello to me
But I cant tell you
How could I tell you
Just what you mean to me
But I cant just leave it be
So I write this for you
With all my sad and sorrow
With hope that tomorrow
My heart wont ache
And my heart wont cry
That this longing will be gone
So my soul can rest once more
But it wont work
Because without you, I'm lost
Without you,I'm like a cold frost
But with you here
I have nothing to fear
And I hate to say it
Because then it's true
I love you.
creepypasion(fanfic ben x jeff) capitulo 10Capítulo 10: la carta de violeta.
Luego de haber tomado un baño y de haberse vestido ben entro a su habitación, se encontró con un desastre que había hecho violeta; sus videojuegos estaban regados por el suelo, sus distintas consolas estaban desordenadas, su ropa rota y en mal estado, y se notaba que habían estado saltando en su cama.
-¡JEFF, VEN A VER LO QUE HIZO TU AMIGA!- grito ben con rabia
Jeff llego al cuarto y se sorprendió al ver el desastre del cuarto, de seguro que ben lo obligaría a limpiar todo. Entonces vio que sobre la cama de ben había un sobre pequeño adornado con la flor que usaba violeta cuando la conoció.
-¿Qué es eso?- dijo Jeff acercándose para tomar el sobre
-es una carta pero ¿Qué hace aquí en mi cuarto?-dijo ben sentándose en la cama
Jeff saco su cuchillo y con el abrió el sobre del cual saco una cadena de oro con el nombre d
Love isn't beautiful,
Nor isn't bad,
It is usually both,
A mixture of feelings,
Some people decide to show love with care,
Others want to be selfish and make them do all the work,
It never works out...
Some people wake up in the morning feeling good inside,
To cherish their love for the person they love most.
Some people wake up and wish they can start over,
To die and wake up to a new life.
To start over.
Love is hot,
Love is cold,
Love is poison.
Love is evil,
When love is good,
But what is important is.....
Love isn't perfect
You, me and simple us.Roses are the desire,
from the thorns that enclose them,
from me to you,
from the violets that bleed unknown,
from the love of mine to yours.
Though I've only known you for a while,
Our thoughts are enlaced in our timelines.
Even as I live to this hour,
I recall the moments spent together,
You, me and simple us.
The reminiscent of the distant future,
It is a simple reminder of us,
Heartache we learned,
distance we learned to keep
I recall the moments spent together,
You, me and simple us.
Sunlight VS. ShadowsDarling,
I love you
I love the way you laugh
When I say something funny without trying
The way you smile
Although you don't do that often
The way you try to romance me
With those silly, adorable pickup lines
You always seem to make me blush
You always have a way to make me smile
But now you have her...
Another girl you really like
Another sun to light up your world
Is her sunlight brighter than mine?
Is my light fading on you?
But I'm happy for you
I really am...
I'm glad you have someone to make you smile
I'm happy someone can make you laugh more than I do
I wish you good luck
I'll wish upon that shooting star
For you to have a better life
With that girl who will actually be there for you
I'm better sinking into the shadows
Shall I just move on?
Shall I fade into the night?
Where I will be hidden forever?
It's not like I have a chance
Or anyone else
So please, my love
Will you answer these questions for me?
Shall I leave or stay?
Shall I move on with the feelings
TouchI don't want to get used to the words you whisper in my ear
Or breathlessly sigh into my mouth
I don't want to get used to the touches that you give me when sun hasn't rised yet
And the touches you give me just before I fall asleep
I want it so my cheeks blush either bright red or turn pale in the cold air
So that my hair flies in the unforgiving wind and passionate fire burns my skin
So that I never forget what your true love feels like
And how much damage your anger can do to my soul
I want you so badly to suprise me like you did that cold morning
Planting kisses like flowers on my cheeks
And carrying me through the colorful meadows for two hours
I don't want to get used to you.
Treat Her Kindlystorybook
bright blue eyes
and stuttered glances
long blonde hair
laying on the floor
they know where the water ends
press of lips
everyones supposed to know
when the door walks in
the clock dripping
its a painting on the wall
in a circle
word of mouth
nothing makes more sense
than the things that people hide
one day well live together
hes says life will be better
and thats the way love goes
for one or two
three or four
and they give
because thats what lovers do
outstretch a hand
with the world
theyll be vindicated
who exactly knows what from
everything from everyone
but theyre still singing spinning dying
her blue eyes are crying
and the world stops to a still
lies make more sense
finger there to a cheek
and the stars are falling
with a word
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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