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Here, AgainHere's another heart break,
Another dozen lies.
And here I am again,
Tears falling from my eyes.
Here I am again,
Caring way too much.
All I did was sacrifice,
But still it's not enough.
Here's another razor,
So tempting on my skin.
Do I keep on fighting?
Or do I just give in?
Here's some some time wasted,
On another stupid boy.
You put on such a good front,
But I was just your little toy.
But I still don't understand,
How it could all just be a lie.
If it really was,
Then why can't I say good bye?
For the Best
Old memories and photos,
so long they caused me pain.
Everything about you,
would make me so ashamed.
For so long I thought you were like the others,
and for so long I was wrong.
It was my mistake,
and because of that you're gone.
I was so ready to put you in the past,
forget what we had,
forget about us.
I didn't know at the time,
but what you did was for the best.
We shared a wonderful friendship,
and we shouldn't put that to rest.
Now looking at the pictures,
bring a smile to my face.
We shared pure happiness,
and that doesn't have to end.
We can't have what we had then,
but we can still share something great.
Hopefully one day,
we can both look back.
And smile at what once was.
What's the point?
Everytime I close my eyes,
I can see you with her.
It's time to face the facts,
I can't go back and fix it.
I see you with her,
I die a little inside.
Because what's the point,
of taking my next breath,
if you don't care I'm breathing.
What's the point of living,
if you don't care that I'm alive.
But I know it's all my fault.
I made the mistakes.
But if you knew the tears I've shed,
and how much I want you back,
then maybe you would realize.
that I mean what I say.
I was just seaking perfection.
But what's the point of wanting that,
if you allready have it,
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.
if you want to give someone the silent treatment,
the first step is shutting up.
things made much more sense
when I was younger.
I thought there was one path,
each choice a stepping stone upon it.
in reality there are a million roads
intertwined like rope.
I got lost
I chose you.
promises are easily broken.
I knew that,
but it still hurt
spending friday night
shivering in the rain,
choking on cannabis perfume
in a dirt parking lot
your face never graced.
and I hoped against hope
you might appear,
but I wasted my wishing
on ungrateful you.
you died before taking your first breath.
I took a chance
and I should've known better.
you can give somebody all you have
and nothing can stop them from
throwing it away.
you've made this bed,
now lie in it.
you slit this suture,
you're the goddamn reason
I gave up on the month of april,
and soon enough you'll fall on your own blade
like some drunken samurai.
if you want
Die AloneI take apart her heart
And lay the pieces down
In a circular form.
Let her bleed a work of art.
I forgot I’m crazy.
I’ll whisper my secrets
Only if she promises
To die here alone with me.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?
They ask it like a dare.
As if letting your unlikely dreams
slip from the safety of your mind
could bring their own
a little closer to reality.
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in modern art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
RelativityLooking in the mirror
through the mirror
seeing a stranger,
My chest swells and my heart lurches
This girl isn't me, not at all
She looks like someone
but not me.
A movie star, a homeless person.
Even when I look at photos
no memory comes up
no allowing for the thought that I have a body
Or that the cold of my fingertips,
the throb of anxiety inside my ribs
I see my arm, an armband
A scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaning
But it did, to this girl in the mirror
Even if memory fails
Existence is relative
Hope in my Lawyer's Paperclip JarMy lawyer's desk on a normal Wednesday afternoon
is flooded with sheafs of white legal pads and errant staples.
Today is Wednesday, but the clouds outside
his twelfth-story window are shaped like loss
and the lines around his eyes seem crater-like in the shadows
and nothing about the last three weeks of my life
has been normal, so I don't know why it surprises me
to find his desk cleared of debris.
I wait for him in a silence that ebbs and flows with my heartbeats,
the zipper on my knee highs tapping against my leg like rain.
When he returns, hands filled with coffee
and the paperwork for a restraining order
against the man he set me up with almost a month ago,
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
"There's only one paperclip left in the magnetic jar.
It's bent like a swan."
I can tell, from the awkward shuffling of his loafers,
that he's wondering if he should have brought the Kleenex, after all.
He knows women often cry at things such as these,
reminders of the men they've love
What Writers AreWriters are people from
both ends of the spectrum.
Those that know isolation
and the thoughts that follow.
Those that know enlightenment.
And those with nowhere else to go,
but deeper down the rabbit hole.
Writers are smiths of the word,
using imagination, experience,
and emotions to temper the
glass and steel we are given.
We fill the page with pieces
And writers are Gods.
Broken or whole or
barely scraping through.
We make you see our world.
We make you feel and care.
All with a bunch of lines,
which we have given life.
Dizzy Girl,you can't cure sorrow. The drops
on the windshield are swallowed
by this traffic's color and you
are just the driver.
Other people pass
with paint blearing,
though I do wish
there was an ending,
questions spark in halos
of low street lamps as you veer
toward the center,
recollections are ceaseless.
She will be at your left and the gust
through the tinted window
will be humid,
you taste her last spirit
in the smoke and
How are you supposed to find yourself,
behind that painted on face?
How are you supposed to see yourself,
when you're hidden behind a fake smile?
You're all so plastic,
you're all so fake.
You've lost yourselves in a sea of similarity.
Don't you realize they can see right through you?
The ones you try to impress.
They don't really care.
So why do you fake it?
And why do you pretend?
The truth is we really don't care,
about the people we see on TV.
Sure they're fun to look at,
but their lives aren't our reality.
All that make-up can't hide,
What you really feel inside.
You're say you seek independence,
yet you're just sitting on the fence.
Why can't you just be yourself,
Instead of taking a personality off the shelf?
Keep in Touch!
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