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Lone HuntressO, lone huntress,
you mighty Empress of the peak
Cruelty within your eyes
as you survey your vast domain.
The dagger you clench--
you have vanquished--
They thought to tame,
to stuff you in a dress,
paint you like a doll.
But you just snarled, didn't you.
Freedom was worth it?
How envious I am.
I gave in.
I'll sit here, in my skirts,
to watch in awe
as you roar to the heavens.
Maybe one day I'll tear the fabric from my body,
climb up to your lofty mountain,
shriek my own ravenous battle-cry,
draw a blade before me,
steel clanging on steel,
until metal cleaves flesh
I am the Empress.
RingsI identified her by the rings even before the DNA tests or facial reconstruction. The skin surrounding was bloated and blue, but the rings biting into the flesh still shone bright in the morning sun. Gentle waves from the lake that had concealed her for the past year lapped at her feet, one of her beloved sneakers missing. Looking at her mangled face was too painful, so I focused on those rings.
There were five of them; they were always present on her fingers. In the silver jewelry box I bought her for her Confirmation, engraved with her favorite Scriptures quote, she kept her large collection of rings, but these five were the ones she wore every day: in class, at track practice, during family dinners. How she loved to softly click the three on her left hand together when she was bored during Mass. I hadn’t been to church with her in months, not since I traveled home to see her dance down the aisle at her high school Mass.
On her left ring fing
The darknessI’m screaming out in terror
‘cause the darkness is suffocating
But this empty house
Just echoes the screams
A blade of grassBlades of grass,
is that all we are?
Dancing with joy in the wind,
beaten down by the rains,
growing until we are cut down,
plucked from the ground.
But for the moment,
may I just enjoy the sun?
The warmth and light,
such a rarity here.
All I want from this life
is a blade of grass.
The Fortress is MadeI've built a fortress, you see,
impregnable to the evils outside.
Fear and anger fade within
the borders where I rule
Softy I will tread beyond the walls,
but this is solely mine.
I share this haven with none;
none wanted in anyways.
I am hesitant to explore beyond
the sunlight- and depression-
pierce what I've hidden-
but it's safe within my walls.
I've outlawed doubt and hate
but they pant eagerly at the gates
Gleeful to jump within my bones
return to their comfortable home.
So I forgo the world outside,
where tears and blood fall
as freely as the rain.
The sadness whispers on the wind,
breezing past the strong stone
I know what it wants from me,
but if I obey its insidious call
my blood would stain my pillow.
WitchIt's not paint that stains her fingertips.
Nor sauce spilled down her front.
She is not pale from lack of sun.
Her eyes aren't black from insomnia.
Can you see her now,
stepping through the mist?
She is your doom.
Isn't that so cliched--
But at her hands you will die.
She will laugh,
picture her now,
matted hair flying
red-stained teeth gleaming.
She'll kick your corpse,
let the butterflies feast.
Her black skirt won't even
show the stains.
A Razor's WordsDon't worry little girl
I'm not so far
I'm just beside your cold empty bed
I'm between the papers of your private book inside your dresser
You never forget me
I know you think of me constantly
You know you want me
You always hide me in the dark
And keep me in the silence
Because you don't want nobody to know about me
Or about our bloody secret
You know you want to take me
You hear me calling for you
You like my sound when I fall on the ground like the fine steel I am
You want me to give you pain I know
Just pick me up
I will be gentle, slip softly
And fast, you won't feel the hard pain
You know you want to feel me cutting under each thin layer of your skin
Fill your filthy desire with me
I'm shiny with odd shape
Rusty with rotten blood stains on my edges
Sharp and all you want to comfort your dead soul with
Don't be scared, for all you want is to feel numb
And I can make you feel good and lost
As you are always walking confused in your own dark and cloudy
mescalinewe raise bygone czars
to walk amongst the living
like travelers in blue skulls,
& i am a preacher
made of offhand remarks &
long-healed headaches -
oh, the whole world is catatonic.
Titles Don't Belong in the First LineTitles don’t belong in the first line,
and poetry is not made of end rhymes.
The ventilated fluorescence and I
flicker at the incongruence
and I want to tell her
sometimes east is left
on the map
if you hold it right.
some days i think id like to eat the universe.pass the stardust, darling.
there is never enough flavour for this greedy palate,
tongue sponging across the acrid surfaces-
not every world is as green as ours, of course.
somehow, everything you touch
ends up tasting
like dust & ashes.
(we've had them before, of course.
the skeletons of our demons were strangely...
you whispered late one night
that maybe i shouldn't be here.
maybe i shouldn't be.
even if i was,
i was probably born in the wrong skin,
now that i think about it,
it makes sense.
i always did want to taste the nebulae,
& drink the souls of the dead.
it would probably lower the number of ghosts hounding me
i used to love the stars, you know.
before you told me they were all dead.
i am a blasphemous creature.
i never fit in.
i probably never will.
but for now, that's alright.
pass the stardust, darling.
you know i need the energy to fly.
shedding skini read somewhere
that our cells regenerate
every seven years
old ones die
and new parts bloom
and it’s now impossible
for me to be the person
i was ten years ago
no matter how much
i long for the ease of those
because that girl who
hunched over notebooks
in crowded trains
or behind backstage curtains
doesn’t exist any more
so i have to just be
this person now
one my seven-years-ago-self
probably would have loved to be
because she believed
i’d have known how to
after seven years of shedding skin
pity none of those
included a user guide
an update manual
because i feel just as clueless
as my fourteen-years-ago-self
and no matter how many stories
my mother regales of that
i can never again connect
with the way she saw the world
disorder"mirror, mirror, on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?"
i whispered to my doleful reflection,
but this was no fairy tale:
this was a small town on a cold, foggy night.
my skeleton was so beautiful
i wanted to showcase it,
give onlookers a glimpse of my impending
death through my very flesh.
i could picture myself, edges carved away
like a cored apple.
i just wanted to feel real.
everyone around me chewed and swallowed so easily
but i just gnawed on my lip until i
tasted blood, and let
a piece of myself die.
the flavor made my mouth water
as my stomach ground out hoarse
requests for expansion, for meaning.
i held nothing within but pathetic yearning,
hollow with self-hatred.
i could only feel affection with pain.
perfection became my obsession,
consuming me alive the way i would have
loved to consume anything at all.
some part of me believe i could be a super model,
and living my life on ambition and emptiness
was the way to do it.
every day i watched the little numbers
I Was Not Born For ThisI was not born here for defeat.
I was not brought into this world to face the ugliness I see
To watch a confusing world turn into one filled with hatred.
A world where children are picked on, then turn around and do the same.
A world where anger and jealousy can overrule kindness and peace
A world where men go to fight for a cause they aren't sure they believe in
And mothers and children watch as their fathers, brothers, cousins and friends go to die
For empty promises and shattered lives
Where society teaches us not to feel or care because it is easier than trying to understand
A world where we act instead of think
A society that teaches us what we believe in and who we are
How we feel and how we respond
What our thoughts should be and what we should look like
I was not born here for this.
I was not created to be put down
I wasn't made to be discriminated, hated and judged because I don't follow the system
I refuse to follow the rules
I refuse to listen to the hate and to the lies tha
I'm AlrightMy mom told me I should stop sleeping so late.
It’s affecting my health.
Mum, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
I have too much I want to do before I die;
And too little time.
It’s arrogant to say, but I won’t be satisfied with just being good,
I want to be the best.
Pokémon Master of the world: It’s my destiny.
From a balcony, is the only time,
I hope you’ll look down on me.
I want to fight the demons in my head.
I mostly feel uncomfortable when I’m not working.
Writing, music, filming, whatever, it doesn’t matter;
I just need to keep myself busy,
Anything to stop me from picking up a gin bottle.
Mum, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
Fuck this health thing.
Mommy, I’m alright.
I just want you to be proud of me.
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.
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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