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CupidSo many times up here
I've cast my arrow down
Upon the hearts of the lonely
So that they may find love.
Eyes, brimmed with tears,
Find each other in the crowd,
Their throbbing red hearts
Scream with desire.
The whole world disappears
As they are taken over by
A glow emanates from their intertwined hands
And their helpless souls drown in each other's embrace.
Their hearts inflamed
And their eyes misty,
They are cloaked and held in the very light of Heaven.
Indifferent to all the perils of the world,
For the fire cannot touch them now.
For even if it does,
They shall hold each other
In an eternal embrace,
Their love conquering all.
But, if love conquers all,
Then why am I so powerless?
Why must I be so close to love,
Only to have it dangle just out of reach?
I shall never know the warmth,
Which inflames the heart,
Blinding it from all other outside forces.
If only I was blind,
So I didn't have to bear
Seeing one more happy
A Doll's Nightmare My painted blue eyes, lined with rows of synthetic eyelashes, knowingly stare out at the crowd. My full, pink lips are frozen into a sickening smile that reveals my pearly white teeth. My plastic body is arranged into an appealing and inviting pose, which is flattered by my tiny, floral, custom-made dress. Every strand of my blonde hair is neatly and perfectly styled. In whole, I am the ideal image of a doll, an idealistic human. I used to take pride in my enticing and flawless appearance and demeanor, but I know better now, that there are thousands of exact replicas of me. Here, sitting on this shelf, we are all competing for the attention we crave.
It's nearly impossible to stand out among an army entirely compiled of copies of yourself. Side by side, we all try our best to smile a little wider, to glow a littler brighter. Children with wide eyes and gaped-toothed smiles will gape while we each try to yell, "Pick me!" as if they could hear us
SacrificeThe blood trickling down my chest
Is the same blood dripping from the bullet on the ground.
The heart that was punctured
Is the same heart still beating for you.
The world that is so stained and bloodied
Is the same world that you live in.
I will protect you
With, regrettably, the only life that I have.
A Photographic Dream The faded black and white photograph sits idly on the vanity. My exact likeness stares out at me from within the flowered frame. We stare at each other, admiring the intricate feature we share. She seems to understand how lucky I was to inherit such beauty from her, the ideal embodiment of femininity. A sort of arrogance glints in her eyes; her plump lips seem to smirk. Her creamy, alabaster skin glows with confident. She is aloof, to say the least. I know everything about this woman, my grandmother, as well as myself, by this photograph. I am the spitting image of her. I know that I am much more than my sorry excuse of a mother. I know that there is more to me than her. Because of my grandmother, I know that I come from more than a disrespected, cheap drunk. This photograph of my grandmother shows me everything that I could ever be.
One day, I know I will leave this place I am forced to call home. I will abandon the lower-class without a second-glance the f
Love ArrowA dove bursts forth from its cage
As a thousand flowers emerge from the ground.
The sky breaks into dawn
I watch hues of pink and red
Seep through the black of night.
A thousand bells resound throughout the world,
Their song carried by the wind,
Bounding to every corner of the earth,
Two hearts are burning red,
Kindled beneath me on a hearth
Emanating a tenderness
That I only know too well.
I shoot my arrow,
And the world seems to stop
For just one moment.
My vision clouds,
And a single raindrop falls
Amidst the beautiful scene.
WhispersThey echo off the walls,
Resounding in my head,
Haunting my thoughts,
And tearing my dreams apart.
The point out my faults and failures,
Making apparent my flaws.
I'm immersed in a sea of hatred,
And an abyss full of glares.
Misery casts its shadow across the room,
Refusing to refrain its lurking.
It is nourished by the pure disgust,
And utter hatred.
It resides here
By my side.
Soon, my heart swells,
But not with eternal love,
But with hatred.
The whispers cease,
And they transform into screams.
The blood is pounding between my ears,
And I let out a piercing scream
That shatters the rest.
Words hurt me no longer,
I return the glares with a grin,
For when I turn
Weary From TormentPeering out from within rusty metal bars,
Clutching them until my knuckles turn white,
As if I could conjure the strength to crush them into the dust I breathe,
I reside in my cage.
Wide eyes search
For a bit of light
To instill hope
Instead of fear,
But none is to be found
Within this godforsaken prison.
I reside in my cage.
Cold to the core.
Never really feeling
Too stiff to ever bound across a meadow,
Too dead to ever want to.
Only ever wallowing in the cruel reality,
As if frozen in time
Without a hope.
The harsh wind slaps you across the face.
Glassy eyes cry without even feeling sad,
The cold nips the nose red.
It hurts too much
To look up
And try to find the sun
That left so long ago.
The ice encrusting the world in a cold prison melts,
And your cheeks flush and warmth floods you.
A blanket acts as a shield.
The coldness has left.
It's strange to remember now
How it felt to feel.
Enveloped in warmth,
The world comes alive.
The color, once drained from the flowers,
Paints the landscape
Hues of crimson and violet.
Everything has a heartbeat,
Everything has a pulse.
Warmth radiates from a world
Once so dark and desolate.
No one knew
That underneath the coldness
Still worth living.
So look up,
The sun is smiling down upon you.
FragmentMy eyes remain clouded,
Unable to conjure any form of tears.
They are dry, blood-shot,
And shift out of focus.
Though I lay still,
My heart is ceaselessly spinning,
The world is endlessly aching.
I can taste the song and I can see the heat.
I hear my heartbeat alone above the ringing that is the scream of the night's wind.
It is calling out for the tear the has fallen
Upon your sleeve, resting on a desk.
The old wood is marked
By the ink that was spilled
When you tried to let the words escape from your lips.
I toss and turn as the crow flies away.
The butterflies are beckoned to mourn the loss of your tears,
Yet I am left.
Arms reach out
And grasp empty air
And I snuggle into a fragment
Of a memory
That is over before it even started.
The dove finds you
And delivers a cold stone--
All that tossing and turning
Has strangled me.
White.They took my blood in gallons; every last drop.
Filled my veins with memories; who knew I could survive on them.
These moments are pulsing through me, flashes taking over.
Even when my eyes are closed, they are lucid as can be.
I wonder what they needed my blood for, why the sudden exchange?
The memories are fading away now, I see blood in my eyes.
I think I'm dying…that would explain the cold.
I hear something exquisite, it's calling out my name.
This feels like home, i've been here before.
The memories are gone, theres nothing anymore.
Pure white, pure white…goodbye.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
opinionsSuch dangerous things
you'd never think
they'd nibble at society
until it drove us all insane
But no one wants to admit they're wrong
Yes, everyone wants to be right
All our minds wish they agreed,
but all strike such different chords
and they'll never
something as little"Do you sometimes think about humans and hurt," she says. She's rummaging in a crate on the cold floor of her garage, and her face is hidden. You shift to let the afternoon light shine on the golden wave of her hair.
"Because I do," she goes on, before you can admit that you have no answer. Small objects fall from the crate and cascade to the floor with a clatter. "I do."
Her words hang heavy between you, alone and uncomfortable in the summer air, and your tongue stumbles in the strangeness of the moment and spits out, "Why?"
She bundles the long strands of her hair into a fist and straightens, her hands otherwise empty. "Humans are so frail," she says, leaving your question unanswered, drifting with her I do. "They're made of all this muscle and bone and stubbornness, and still you can cut them to the heart with something as little as words." Her eyes fix on yours.
"What do you mean," you say, struggling to keep up with her. "Why words."
She smiles and the force of it is
moonsongthe crescent moons bitten into my palms
break apart the hard worn lines written
there. a fortune teller told me
it was just a matter of time before my
universe crashed in on itself
and my stars ripped themselves apart.
your gray-sky-eyes swallowed me whole
and i fell down, down, down
while your piano key fingers played
my melody one last time.
Make it rainFeel the hurt,
Feel the pain.
Let it go,
And make it rain.
Caressed by subtle lips,
And liquid finger tips.
Our cheeks brush,
Its more than enough.
But then she's lost.
Consumed by the now,
Restrained by the then
And overwhelmed by what's to come.
Sleeping fear and waking dread.
Monsters hiding under your bed.
Twisting turns, squirming threads,
Dancing lights throughout your head.
You must be willing to risk it all,
Standing strong to watch it fall.
I'll grab your hand through all the pain,
And pull you out as I make it rain.
cerebrum.if it's midnight already and i can't feel you anymore,
it's because you're savoring the taste of someone else;
or maybe it's because you're just lost in all the shades of blue,
the word "farewell" comes in so many colors.
if you've climbed too high and still haven't found a signal,
it's because my thoughts are lost somewhere in jupiter's storm
or maybe it's because i'm asleep on a train
heading far, far away from you.
i took a metaphor literally once when i cut you out of my life
with a pair of rusty black-handled scissors and every picture that i had of us.
it never seemed to work, i could never chase you out of my head,
and that was when i realized that you lived there.
you're everything and nothing i've learned in history class,
about guillotines and revolutions,
and if i know one thing, it's that you're surely not a Saint
and no sir, i will not love you.
Flavor of LifeThe flavor of life
Cannot be defined
For it is unique
It is sweet like cake,
But can be sour
Like a tart lemon.
The taste of life is
One that lingers like
Tasteless like water,
Yet tasty like cake,
And still so filling
The taste is savored,
The flavor of life
a cure?they say Van Gogh
used to eat yellow paint
so that he could get
the happiness inside of him.
especially on nights like this,
I wonder if that would work.
I wonder if the pigment
would seep into my intestines:
would spread through my veins
like an elixir:
would curl and coil and cast
on every angle, every aspect
of my body.
I wonder if endless trials
and retrials of drugs
could be replaced by the
occasional dose of cadmium,
liquid sunshine, intangible dream
I swear I can almost
I wonder if it would do
than make me sick,
curled up on the bathroom floor
and left choking on a life
that I can never have.
My Romantic Bones Are Dancinglove is...
the ability to face torment
from a thousand needles
drilling a million holes each
into the same square of skin -
the gouge is a constellation
accompanying an epic tale
that's every brand
the knowledge we are broken
by familiar hands
and restored by
familiar arms & lips
a metaphor for the inexpressible
god in each of us;
manifested in a flame, licking
hollow spaces in our yawning caverns.
one soul seeking the fingertips
of another soul seeking the fingertips
of another soul seeking
reparations for its mundane sins.
the first breath, the last breath;
the purpose of inhalations between.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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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