|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
You Should Be AfraidYou say you aren't afraid of people. You don't understand. You have no idea how very scary people can be. They can be so very scary.
"People can be reasoned with." Are you naive? "I could appeal to their insane side." Are you that ignorant?
Do you not understand the way people are? Do you not understand that some people are far beyond reason? No. Not all people can be reasoned with because sometimes... No matter how much you beg and plead with them to stop, no matter how much you cry and scream, they don't. They continue...
Until you are black and blue where their hands grasped. Until your wrists and ankles are wrapped with scars to hide your shame. No. How could you understand? People are scary. People are so very scary.
Early Morning DragNight time brings shakes
Chills running through my skin
Ice and fire
Yet I hold no sickness
None physical, anyways
My brain churns, turns
Spins around in circles
I wake with a migraine
I open the fridge
Decide nothing is appetizing
Make a pot of coffee
It's going to be a long morning
The drag sets in
Cinder blocks hold me down
Cat stretch, look around
Melting AwayI'm glad you understand how it feels. You're deeper than I thought you were, behind that stainless steel mask. Heat melts you like it melts me. But then again, winter is on it's way. It's getting cold.
Will you freeze like I do? When the blizzards come, will you stop being so open? Will you stop talking with me? I hope the snows don't come. I hope you'll stay thawed out. I hope you'll keep turning my head with talk of summertime. When frosty winds turn our cheeks pink, I hope you're there with a scarf and hot chocolate, hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. When Jack Frost comes nipping at your nose, I'll let you stay to roast chestnuts on an open fire. It'll be warm.
We can ignore the holiday season. We can forget about jingle bells and silver bells. We can go to Hawaii. We'll talk about swimming pools and lemonade and sip our tropical drinks. You and I can get away.
That way I won't have to remember my lack of a grandmother and how my grandfather is somewhere in Costa Rica, drowning
I'll Never Be Good at this SubjectIf you've ever felt like you don't know anything anymore, you know how I feel. I thought it was like textbook chemistry, math, a type of science. Now I understand that it's an art. It requires talent. It requires creativity, understanding, observation. It requires open-mindedness, the ability to forgive and forget.
So now I know two things. One, I will never be good at art and two, I will never be good at love.
The Man I NeedSometimes it's nice to feel warmth. I'm glad you were there to give it to me. I don't think you knew it, but you were the only reason I wasn't crying. It was because you were there and your hands were holding mine. I haven't felt like that in ages, maybe forever. I can't say that I love you because I don't. But I can say that I need you, that I like you, that I'm glad you're there. I'm glad you're that shadow that I can hold. I'm glad your hand can hold mine, especially when I need it. I really do need it.
You said you think of me as a sister, as a close friend. Of course, I know you like me more than that. And I like you more than a brother or a close friend. You're more like a companion or a guardian. I know to you, I might just be that strange girl but to me... You're like a shelter. No one else can be my man like you can. No, not my man like that... But I'm fragile despite what others might expect. I have times where I'd collapse if it weren't for you, your hands.
I can't love you,
I hate the HolidaysI hate the Holidays but then I suppose it's a love/hate relationship. I hate being alone through most of them. Isolation is nothing new to me but it's especially difficult when this time rolls around. While most people are spending time with family and friends, I sit in my room and write and wish and cry. I hate that it's like this. I never meant for it to be like this but I can't change it. I wish my grandfather wasn't an alcoholic who is too ashamed to show up on Christmas or send a Birthday Card. I hate that my living grandmother thinks I'm going to Hell and that she'll never accept me for who I really am. I hate that I'm forced to sit around while my parents glare at me like they wish I weren't there. I hate it. I wish my grandma was still alive, the one who died of cancer when I was still an infant. I'm reminded all the time that she loved me more than anything. She would have been here every Christmas, Thanks Giving, and Easter. She would never have missed a birthday. I know it.
The Dim Lit RoomI sit here in this dim light
The child calls, the piano plays
I've never felt lonelier than here
In a full room so empty
Light on, light off
The child plays here alone
So happy, so lonely
On and on it plays
Sounds break my stare
To look into her eyes
I'm so lonely here
This full and empty room
Poor dogs, sleeping dogs
Let them lay in the dim room
Broken cords hold the clutter
Little feet on the floor
Heavy game pieces in her hands
Tired eyes on her face
The day is ending here
This dim lit room
Look at it fly, look at it fall
Here in the dim lit room
I've never been more content
In such an empty, full room
Singing for her supper
Crying for her sleep
Calling out my lonely name
In this sad space
Pills shaking in my hand
Light hurts my eyes
I sit in the dim lit room
Hoping to slip
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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