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Double DamagedThe cultural cure was felt as she sheared off her hair.
Persistently, Hatred swallowed the forensic evidence
burying her desperation beneath layers of cotton.
She plastered a behavioral anecdote over torn skin
and vowed not to let them get to her so easily.
She created a personal joke, once consumed by her fear
now showing confidence so bright it almost blinded.
Hatred paused in reflection, accusation a rhetoric,
The tides turned once more against her confidence
They gained another teenaged sacrifice.
TidesI tried to stop myself
from being drawn to you
For a while I had forgotten
but then I spent a few hours with you
and they crushed all semblance of reality
like a fucking bug and I knew
then that I was hopelessly
dead-weighted underwater for you.
Truth and Revelation in the ConstellationsYou know behind the tumult
in your brain lies the secret
to the trajectory of the stars as they fall.
How could it not? Each phase of fantasy
holds some grain of your pain.
A hollow needle pierces a portion of your torso,
a vast, whooshing gulp of air slips
into your lungs and despair instead sates you.
The cant of your hips is bound to the the answer or
a response to the angle of the moon to the tides when it's full.
Or maybe in the splay of your true ribs
resting between your fingers as they stroke
holds a thunderous truth, the
cold betrayal of trust, a heresy,
but burnt filament and dying embers only cause
a very small portion of your scars.
The others are hidden where leaves fall.
They are never meant to be rose red in October,
but here we are, counting the shades found only
in lipsticks, the palm of your hand opened
To catch Orion's Belt in midwinter.
I love you, too, but you'll never know how much I owe you.
You and I dreamt my death.
LiarYour smile is just as genuine as it was last week,
and I'm still fighting with those thread-thin
self-inflicted stings on my right arm.
I can tell you there is never any blood.
I found another needle in my skin.
There isn't a better word for lonely.
I won't dance again.
My circulation is too poor,
I can't feel my legs.
I'm cold all day.
My fingertips are numb
You can feel them shaking.
I can't wipe that look you gave me from my mind.
It hurt, and I know you didn't want
to let that taint your face
and I said "I'm sorry."
You said "It's fine."
I still don't believe you.
I am terrified of abandonment.
I know you said you won't ever leave me
while I'm awake, like God,
only God's a liar.
I'm in control of myself.
I'm still fighting those visible ribs.
I can tell you the tension isn't friendly
It's not my posture.
Do you know what running water sounds like?
It's in the back of my mind
trickling through my eyes.
at least we can walk together now.
Eloquence Played In PairsI crave
Cut Time Dig sonatas into your thighs
knowing that they're never written
for you. The ones written
in the moonlight, reeking of lust
and a cacophony of dissonance,
are the ones your mind screams
Give He knew another wave of nausea was coming. He gagged on it. There was no relief for the crawling lurch to his stomach. again his throat spasmed and liquid poured from him like a fucking rainstorm. He was dirty, filthy, worthless. Like food chewed and spat up.
He wasn't good. His fingers clenched into his thighs, digging canyons, creating rivers. Not enough Another storm surge washed up is throat, now burned raw. His chest heaved, ribs flaring out like oars dipping into water. The night changed to dawn with his face pressed to the cool porcelain. The day remained gray as he slept through this mood.
It started once more with scratching, tearing holes into gifts he'd been given, and shredding pictures from the past. His mind flooded and went blank. He didn't fight it this time. Nausea never came.
TaxidermyMake me wax and make me wire
Burn the cables, burn the ties
Stitch quick, stitch sure
Glue falsity to my skin
Please spirit away the gore
Make my cheeks flush red
Give my eyes a sparkle
Make me a lie I can believe
Shutter StuckThere's some part of you that's been institutionalized.
You are some kind of ritual I repeat to myself
to keep calm and I know that I depend too much on
Over-the-counter medications but you're one of those things
I'm addicted to that I'll never, ever, give up.
There's an inherent healing quality about you that's been memorialized.
You make it so damn hard to remember the universe-shit-stain
that is my existence. An eternity locked inside a box that is my gender
and my fingertips can hold no key that isn't bloody.
I've been foggy. I've been exhausted on ten hours of sleep
I've felt caffeine shudder through my veins until I'm sick.
You're the Valium to the panic switch. I'll breathe.
Capture the moment, stuck here again.
I'll be institutionalized in your memory.
StereotypeTake a broken girl.
Take a broken girl and dangle beauty in front of her face and make a martyr of her, revel in her devotion and her needy passion and let her scramble for some grotesque form of approval and then hold her until she
Break a broken girl.
Break a broken girl and play apathy while she writhes and sobs to herself and curses under her breath that there is no more music in the world and she will seek unholy savior and a martyr is broken and she will take a cold shower to
Fix a broken girl.
Fix a broken girl, polish her like she could shine again and tell her that she is beautiful, tell her that and watch her weep in disbelief and she will call you a liar when all she wants is to feel safe again and she will try to
Slap a broken girl.
Slap a broken girl and whisper love in her ears while she cries for you, because she can't let go anymore and she will clutch her stomach and scream
Take a broken girl.
Take a broke
Perfect PorcelainNot a picture perfect doll not something
you can dress-up as you please, not someone
you can mess with and use to your desire.
Not some porcelain goddess made so
easy to break, so hard to get emotion out
of. I am not breakable.
Not made for round blush on my cheeks
skin is not pale enough to look pretty. Not
made to withstand the many throws to the
ground not made to fall out of the little
Not some porcelain goddess made so
easy to break. My will is steel. You will
not get through to me I am not breakable.
Not made for lace and bows pink is
not my shade. Roses are not for me
the only advantage is their thorns to
dig into my skin.
Not some porcelain perfect goddess
not made for the abuse that is thrown
my way. Not made for falls and shatters
I am not breakable.
Tutus do not fit my waist you can
only have so much curve for one
body (and mine isn't even perfect).
Little girls dance on the stage, I was
My(anti-social)selfI hate the world
It's too complicated
I hate people
They annoy me
They are pests
Bothering anyone and anything in their paths
They're like mosquitoes
And I'm the only human
They only want to suck the life out of me
Leaving behind an irritation
So go ahead
Call me anti-social
I don't care anymore
I'd rather be alone than be bothered by you
Go out and be social
I'll just stay here
In my quiet little corner
I won't be lonely
Because I have someone here to talk to
Someone who will listen
Someone who won't judge
And that someone
Secret In The BoxThere's a secret in the box –
There's a secret in his eyes,
just look and see the clashing
waters as they splash in turmoil.
There's a secret hidden here, there's
something we aren't seeing – that maybe
we refuse to see. There's something
different here – a hidden wound, hidden
Watch as he bleeds silently in the night,
watch as the red stains our vision and think
of how you could stop it. You could, if you
really cared. But do you? Do you feel anything
The wound has cut you deep, it has cut
much deeper than the first layer of skin –
maybe you should have paid attention in
biology class – how many layers do you
have? How many can you cut through?
There's a secret hidden in the box –
but where's the box? Where's the object
you seek with all your being? He's taken
it, and now you're journey is to get it back.
To find him and end his miserable life.
But he bled to death on your watch, with
your hazel eyes burning deep into his soul
as he watches the pain he has caused brew in
Stay Strong Minutes are prolonged and hours seem like years. The slow ticking of the clock rings in my ears, drowning out all other noises. The seconds wear away my composure, pounding in my head like a jackhammer as my throat burns from choked back sobs. My eyes swell like a dam ready to burst at any time. I know I look like a wreck but I don’t care.
The all-too-sterile smell of bleach attacks my nose as I walk down the bright, seemingly colorless hallway. Clenched fists begin to shake as my anxiety rises, consuming me as it did the night before. It’s ruthless, not holding back. Gotta stay strong, just a few more steps. What will he look like? Is he alright? God help me, I can’t take another step. Please give me strength, I need to see him.
I walk in the door and the dams crumble. The tears that rimmed my eyes are now rivers, flowing freely down pale cheeks as a sob escape
Lying UglyNobody had ever told her that her eyes spoke volumes,
or that the charming kink in her grin was enthralling.
That she was a muse and a nymph all at once.
That the finest lady could not hope to hold beauty so pure.
Nobody had ever bothered to pick her up and polish her,
until she shone like her every cell wished to.
So her breath gleamed silver in the freezing pre-dawn,
and her fingers trembled over the line of a
jaw or a
So she told herself of her own faults,
and she forgot the way love is whispered in truth.
She bit her lips red-raw,
flinched away from the softest touch,
her eyes veiled in winter fog.
Sullen lips cracked from lack of use and she
Sobbed with doubt,
tears falling like snow from thick lashes
while a poet wrote about the way her movements were like water,
her eyes holding galaxies,
and her features fine as marble.
Sat while she lied Ugly,
and captured hers in turn.
She Rhymes With HeartbreakShe wraps her arms
around my waist
and digs her claws
into my face.
She's climbed her way
to the top
and let the wound
fester and pop.
She watches me
with eyes on fire
and silently, I call
She wishes me a silent
but somehow, her words
don't work so well
She wraps her arms
around my waist,
and digs her claws
into my face.
The Fear InsideCurled up on the couch,
blanket draped over me
The phone rings.
Sweetie, we're going to go get shots.
Numbly put the phone back.
Take deep breaths.
You feel violated – untouched no more.
Harm is coming your way.
Take deep breaths –
She's outside in the car,
honking the horn and
now the noise seems three
times as loud as it would
be normally. And as it
bounces around in your
head your heart begins to pound.
There's no way out.
You have to find an escape,
but you can only find one shoe
and put it on, one at a time.
Then your jacket.
Then you find something else –
who knew you were really the scarf type? –
and you put it on with robotic movements
that might make a snail look fast.
Then you walk out. One foot
in front of the other. You don't
want to – you can't – but you are.
The car ride is silen
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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