|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
If You Want to Sing Out...I don't always dream of ephemeral things
like drops of dew on fur,
or the snark that lives in each breath,
Some things linger.
The taste of sweet flesh.
The orchids that grow from her hair,
their scattered open flowers, dried in the only warm room in the house
I hung myself today,
my mother ordered me down,
towed my hearse.
She wants me to find love.
I told her I was getting married.
The crinkle orchid flowers are all that's left.
I put them in a glass jar
like the butterflies,
so they linger.
Wake to a cold sweatThe winter rungs of the ladder grab back at gloveless sweaty palms who scramble up, running from some hollow screaming below to a point of light as far out of reach as the stars. The grotesque things that steal children's voices began to climb her Rapunzel hair, sharpening their claws as they slide closer.
Nothing left to burnHave you ever played with fire?
Seen the ochre fields evaporate its orange leaving black
Ash that floats under foot clinging to scorched boots,
Who's feet inside dance about?
Have you tested a match and thrown it in grass
By your parents shed before they drove to Grand Rapids
Only to get a phone call once you got there;
Your only regret being you weren't there to see it dance
But being well pleased with the melted glass
In wonderful patterned fractured globs?
Did you ride your bike up the hill by your house
To see the firefighters fling water desperately on barn
Overtaken by flickering imps, dancing from earth to sky
Seeing the gaping maw of the building welcoming you to its belly?
Sometimes my fingers still trace the edges of imps
Imprisoned in glass houses with wax floors,
The tiny dancers I refuse to let out to the world.
Sometimes I still chase sirens to billows of smoke.
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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