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Trampled SandShe may as well have been the sand.
Ever erring on the side of where she was fixed.
Tranquil in the quiet of what she knew.
She was good that way; alone.
She was serene and delicate.
Nothing broke her when she was alone.
Every sun has to rise though.
With the breaking of the sky comes the breaking of her solitude.
The people trample and intrude on her peace.
She is left broken at the end of every day with visitors,
They never care, they are never gentle,
All pounding through her environment like a freight train.
But when the sun sets and her life is once again calm,
She seems to reset herself,
She's excellent at pretending she'd never been broken.
She's always different though, after they break her.
She looks almost the same barring a slight shift,
She's completely different but very much alike her old self.
They force pieces of their lives deep into hers,
She always buries these things when she can,
They can't see that they've left a mark on her at all.
She may as well have been the s
The Internal Drabbles of Conclusions and The SparkThe hardest part of coming to a conclusion on yourself is knowing who are you.
Let me start again.
The hardest thing about coming to conclusions, is that first you must know the ins and outs of the topic.
Yes that's it.
My heart is a sea of turmoil and grief,
An everlasting view of the dark,
But a star shines so brightly into my night,
All I can see is the spark.
It's a spark.
In my heart.
You get the picture.
I came to understand the spark,
As a friends when I needed to look up,
It was light and life and reason,
I saw it, I knew it, I loved it.
Can you love a spark?
Can you - understand- a spark?
Am I making any sense at all?
Is this even legible to anyone?
Life is different in the heart than it is outside,
In the world of trees and sunshine,
You don't see the oceans on every street,
You smell the fresh cut pine.
I'm confusing you aren't I?
My dribbles of excommunicated folly are unfathomable, yes?
So AfraidThe sleek, slick blackness that runs down my arms,
it keeps me anchored to my bed,
Unable to move for the heavy sensation binds me,
forever screaming voiceless pleas in an effort to escape the chains.
My mind is overrun with a flurry of worry,
I feel nothing, nothing, not a single damn thing,
yet the numbness terrifies me,
even the fear is something in the form of nothing.
The sludge reappeared after years of freedom,
it's thick, tarry motives beckoning me,
I was weak, I gave in, unintentionally of course,
here I am though, breaking in half and barely coherent.
It's different this time though,
the weightless heaviness of nothing,
My thoughts derail like a train of broken tracks,
my body refuses to take each step with ease.
I drift backwards to broken thoughts,
my skin seems to be too whole, too together,
My mind tells me it would be okay to separate it slightly,
I'm too afraid to let myself because that violence feels too peaceful.
My eyes lack the light of being alive,
but I still go
How Long?How long before we bend over backwards trying to mend ourselves?
Before our hearts are so full of putrid hate that we spill their blood to cleanse them?
Until our veins pulsate so intensely with aggravation that we excuse the violence we wreak?
How long until we stand before the mirror and scream at the hateful face that we see?
These days have already come.
One and the same we are each guilty of such a hindrance of beauty.
Each of us caught in the notion that we are okay as we are.
A little broken maybe but nothing we can't handle? No.
We have reached the days of blood shed among brothers,
we have seen the hearts of children ripped from their bodies as an attempt to keep their honour.
We have seen fires lit in each of us that are only put out by hurting another person.
We have become the people we once feared.
Succumbing to the notion that it's okay that we are broken.
Nothing needs to be done because that's just the way things are.
Cutting ourselves in an attempt to fee
Annie's HorsesAnnie was a horse rider from the age of 6,
she never dared have another dream when her daddy would bet on her life that they'd be rich because of her.
Annie's daddy was a miserable man with a miserable, loveless heart.
He was focused on money, whiskey and cigarettes.
Annie found it hard to let go of the horses.
They reminded her that she was good for something, for anything.
She was grasping at straws as her wide eyes pooled with the drops of her memories so faint you couldn't see them.
She tried not to see them.
Annie met Josh when they were nineteen and she was his sweetheart for five years.
They got married and had a son named Aiden.
Annie found another dream in Aiden. Annie wouldn't let him near the horses that stole every inch of her heart and the younger part of her life.
Annie was afraid that one day Daddy would bet on Aiden.
Annie was a mother. A loving mother with three kids living in a cottage that she loved.
Annie's dreams grew everyday and she relished in being allowed to d
A wager of willGrip the table, you can do this,
Don't look back, don't look forward,
Open your eyes,
Stare straight down they can't find you here.
Take a deep breath,
Silent, silent, don't make any noise,
Breathe it out,
Quickly now, they'll hear you.
Lift your head,
Cautiously please, you wouldn't want to wake them,
Take another deep breath,
What's the use? I'm one of them.
Exhale and take a step back,
Ignore us now, ignore us,
Pivot on your heal,
You'll fall flat on your face.
Move forward please,
You'll fail what you try,
Take steps, good, come on,
You idiot why do you bother?.
You're doing great, keep going,
You'll lose it now I promise,
Careful now you're losing control,
We told you you'd never amount to anything.
Ignore those thoughts now,
You can try but you won't succeed,
Focus on what you're doing,
You're useless, Darling.
It's okay, get back up,
You can't even walk straight,
I know it
WingsThick honey oozes down my throat,
The sensation could make me gag,
I stop short of that,
The smile creeps on my face.
A brick has landed in front of me,
With ease I step over it,
Alas in front lay another brick,
Twice as high as the first.
These bricks keep growing,
I have to climb, to fly, to shine,
I have to compete with their transcendent nature,
I must defeat their unruly hate.
I am pick axing an inch at a time,
An inch meaning a mile,
There are so many inches,
I can't reach the top.
Suddenly I fall as I scream to the top,
I could've made it, I could've beat this,
I could've done this,
If only not on my own.
I notice I'm not falling,
I'm not screaming,
I'm not dying,
I'm breathing, I'm flying.
I'm on the wings of an eagle,
The ground catapulting towards itself as I ascend,
I can defeat this, all of it,
These bricks I took pleasure in climbing.
I was once unstoppable,
I was committed to the cause of the climb,
But I fell just in time to be caught,
I realize these wings are ne
Grab Life with Both HandsShe sucked in a deep breath.
Not here, not now. Not here, not now.
She hated every breath she took.
Putrid air in her lungs.
She felt the dead beat of her heart.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
It never did more than that.
It was so deceitful.
It never felt a thing.
Love was a fairly tale.
Or so she thought.
The dull ache radiated from her rotten flesh,
as it healed from her last endeavours.
She was a perfectionist.
Death was never something she could get right.
She hated life and death and the in between.
A lifeless drifter amongst the weeds.
The sunlight was an ocean,
The moonlight burned her skin,
She was bitter and violent,
Tasting life with her anger.
She would change one day,
At the single sound of life,
Her heart would thud rhythmically,
And love to be no longer nothing.
It's coming though.
When it comes, she is vibrant.
And when it goes, she fades.
Her colour shifts from bright to grey,
Open ended remarks cloud her eyes,
She wanted to keep it forever,
But she lo
Friends, boys and giving it all to JesusThere is always a point when enough is too much.
For the last few months I've received countless 'I'm done with you' and 'I've had enough of being your friend's to last me a long time. I've heard the words 'I love you' with; or shortly prior to these words. My ears feel like they've abused the sound of precious words being manipulated into something fake and all too painful.
Love is not neglectful. Nor does it give up. Love does not mean isolating a person because sometimes they can be difficult. No. Love is not this at all. My heart is all too consumed with the misuse of the word 'Love' and thoughts plague me of how a situation may have gone if the words were sincere. But I've spent too much time dwelling on the possibilities of the past rather than the reality of right now.
It's hard sometimes to look at my last four months and view the almost hourly conversations with the people who claimed their spots in my life with a promise of consistency in their presence. It's difficult to vie
Someone asked me what is love
is it good, is it bad
is it awesome, is it terrible
I honestly didnt know how to answer them.
I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotions
Love is kind
love is harsh
love is wonderful
love is terrible
love is a cure
love is a sickness
love is LOVE
love is hate
love is meaningful
love is pointless
love shows the best in people
love shows the worse in people
love makes us speak truth
love makes us lie
love understands everything
love confuses everyone
love builds your life
love tears your heart down
love makes you smile
love makes you cry
love makes us cuddle
love makes us hit
love makes the world go round
love makes the world go crashing down
love makes things simple
love makes things impossible
love is always worth it
love is never worth it
love makes us smarter
love makes us stupid
love is enlightening!
love is BLIND
make love not war
make war out of love
love is peaceful
love creates fights
love is sooth
SuicideSuicide... they call it sin
They say it is a death in which no-one wins...
They encourage you not to do it, they say it is wrong...
But who is there to encourage you when you can't be strong.
You feel like you have no-one, not even a friend.
No shoulder to cry on, just one last letter to send.
tragedies - collab.you deserve all the cobweb dreams,
fairytale hopes, and explosive love
in the world, but i know that i
will never be the one
to give them to you.
you need notes that end with
'ps - you're brighter than
twenty-seven silver stars'.
i can't bring myself
to write them, though.
it's not like you'd read them,
i cut out paper hearts and
dreams and gave them to you, but
you only ripped them up and said
'these aren't good enough.'
when i painted you a picture
of golden skies and sunshine smiles,
you handed it back and told me
'next time, paint realistically.'
so i wrote you a story
filled of starless nights and
hopeless dreams. you said 'no,
i don't need this. you're
tragedy enough for me.'
by the time i was humming you
melancholy lullabies through the receiver,
you had already surrendered
to the sweet grasps of sleep.
'i'd rather nightmares than you,'
you said, hanging up the phone.
i kept singing anyway, hoping
that you would stop running
long enough for me to catch up.
but i forgot -
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hol
heart song.this is the song
to your heart.
why are you locked inside
a bathroom stall? no one
to hold you, tell you sweet
lies and say you are
beautiful, say you are
perfect? it's not the end of
the world, not yet. if it was,
wouldn't there be
your heart is not yet
dead; please do not
say it is. if it was dead,
it wouldn't hurt this
your heart is only sleeping.
when the only melody in your head
is a break up song, and the only thing
your heart seems capable of doing
is twisting itself into knots, and the only
thing you want to do is hide and escape
we are talking about finding
eternity in the things people
throw away. we are talking about
listening to the moments of silence
in between heart beats. we are talking
about distances shortening and
people realizing they can
we are talking about
one of the greatest tragedies
in life is that
DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.
This PainTears roll down my face,
As I cut myself,
To release the pain.
It hurts so much,
But feels so good.
The pain is draining from me,
In drops of blood.
As I watch my pain leave from me,
"How can this be,
That I have so much pain
When I'm only merely 16?".
Then I remember the past that I've had,
Memories of yelling,
all the awful scars.
I've cried too much,
I've hated so many,
That I don't think people will ever get me.
I come back from my world of thoughts
And realize that I've bled too much,
It's all over the counter,
It's becoming messy,
But I don't care.
I just want this pain out of me.
I'm starting to think that I can't go on,
That maybe I should cut deeper
Till there is no more pain or blood,
But then I remember,
That I may have a future.
I'll just have to wait out this pain
And let the blood dry up.
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earth
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
im not all there in the head
youre not all there in the head, my mother says
im not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well thats where loves gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken with rain i watched fall (like stars)
am i poetic enough yet, yet?
leaving rain-prints on the carpet but mother wont mind
mind you she never minds anything if its mine
but then it stops a quick shut-eye stop
(i wonder) is it dew now that it sits like jewels upon the grass?
the wind is lovely in my ear, voice like rushing water
Depressing PoemsSorry --
What if she died?
And at the funeral her parents told you,
"You could have saved her from herself."
How would that make you feel?
And that night you went home
Sat in your room alone
And killed yourself
Just to be with her again and tell her
Why do people try to help me?
Do they care?
I guess they do
But all I do is hurt them
She keeps trying to help me
But all I do is push her away
She's my best friend
Why can't I just let her help?
What if I died right now?
How would you fell?
Sad, depressed, torn apart?
Or would you feel nothing,
But an empty place that can never be filled again?
My name is Maximum RideThe cabin was surrounded,
in the middle of the night,
take the humans or leave them?
well this would be a sight!
We had to live no matter what,
i was the leader of our clan,
but the humans had been good to us,
but when did they enter the plan?
I was debating for a while,
with that voice inside my head,
should i risk the lives of my family?
or what i rather be dead?
Finally my heart won out,
so we up-up-and-awayed into the night,
and i never really felt better,
then with my family in mid-flight.
Those humans do cross my mind,
did they live or did they die?
but really i was an experiment,
they were no concern of mine.
My name is Maximum Ride.
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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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