|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
do you really have a choice???dont condemn them
for they do not know what they ask
i knew what i was asking for
so i deserve this sufferen
but do not take their innocence
we all reach that point
where breathing just get to hard
you pretend you care
then prove to me you dont
im lyeing hear in this fatal position
wait for these tears to leave
and its you fault!
to believe in angels
you must believe in
dont burn to bright...
just bright enough for me
they play in grave yard
without knowing it
disturding the dirt
and the people under it
I'd tell you to go to hell
but i know sending you home
wouldnt do anyone any good
I am dirty & discarded
a memory to easily forgotten
i might aswel be a figment of your imagination
existing for the breifest moment in time
It's a heartbreaking feeling
while I know you love her
I hope she realizes how special you are
in the dreams of the immemorable
answers plead to be spoken
but the question
seven secondsin the last seven seconds i realized 3 things
well actually i miss a lot of things at the moment. i miss the sun and the sand on the beaches mixing together. i also miss the feeling of adventure when i go somewhere i haven't been before. but when I'm talking about what i miss i was actually thinking of you. I'm not exactly sure what i miss about you, maybe it was the green in your eyes that was almost invisible behind the brown or maybe it was how your hands never seemed to get cold, maybe it wasn't any of these but i know it has something to do with how we would sit somewhere and talk for hours and we would both seem so happy, i remember meg asking me later what we had been talking about (she always had had a crush on you) and i would never be able to tell her, not because it was private but i could never have been able to sum it up. i remember sitting next to you thinking about growing old together. some how growing old with you didn't seem so bad you s
her diaryher diary sits on the bed,
where he discarded it hours earlier.
she had sent it with a parcel,
that she said contained her heart
(he didn't dare find out what it really was).
the dairy she had started writing when they were together.
(a month before she left)
2 years of her life were held in its pages
followed with sticky notes and falling out pages
when he found it lying on his bed
he had secretly hoped that it would reveal where she was.
he seamed to have forgotten that she wrote in poems
about how she felt
the only clue to where she was is a small note
on the back page
to find me u must find the place where
my best friend...she's scared to feel...
to fall in love,
to believe in people,
they have ALL let her down
one to many times.
she's looking for an escape,
a way to enter the blackness
that is reached just before you wake up.
the place where nothing can find her.
the place that feels free
the place of nothingness.
(she doesn't see the prison bars
in my headi have a confession to make...
i don't dream when i sleep
for some people that could be normal
but for me i think its strange
I'm supposed to control what happens,
so why do most my favorite characters die?
my so called dreams...
they are my little fairy-tales
but they grow and Grow and GROW
until i cant control them
i know it may sound weird that
i cant control my own thoughts
but it just starts to overwhelm me
i try to stay with reality as much as i can
but after awhile of trying to block them
they turn into nightmares and ruin me
they make me moody, hard to get along with
and then REAL people are also getting angry at me
not just the people in my head
its hurting me...
i think that its all gonna kill me
I'm trying not to be dramatic here
Ice BabyYou should live in the Arctic, baby.
where the sun don't shine to often,
with animals so dangerous and cute.
you would fit right in there, baby.
you could dance in snow
and maybe find something
more dangerous then yourself.
oh baby you would love it there,
where it can never get to hot...
but without me you would have to live,
you would only have animals, baby.
I'm sorry i could not come with you
but your baby is joined to the sun.
I'm so sorry...
my ice baby.
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
You Ever Felt ItHave you ever felt it?
When you lay there broken
And feel yourself so guilty
Eyes gushing red
And you want to sleep in a coma
Your brain swelling with thoughts
At the same time empty with nothing
When you can't suit yourself
And see yourself a place among the demons
that moment when you control your life
The moment when you choose between life and death
And then you yourself can decide either way
It's when you're on the edge
And want someone to pull you back before you make another step
A hook, to rip all the insanity out of your body
And suck all the madness that is growing black dead trees
Have you ever felt it, have you known depression
Did you ever seek a source of help, and did you ever find it
1:33 amto the angry young
hungry ocean eyes:
i do not wish to know
what crawled inside
your ribs to
i just wish you would
let it leave.
no 11:11 wishinghey say he likes her,
and shes cant help pray
that they were right.
his eyes are like
the months between summer and autumn,
specks of green hidden behind a gentle brown.
and his voice seems to melt even her heart.
she doesnt want to love him.
but she cant help herself
and she cant help hoping
that someday he will want her back.
she may hope yes,
but she will never let herself wish
because her wishes seem to get lost
on their way to heaven.
so tonight she will go to bed before 11:11
and HOPE that one day...
he will love her too.
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