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SoledadHe tardado un siglo,
de dolor y de castigo,
en tomar la decisión,
de saber que he vivido,
encerrada en la prisión.
La prisión del egoísmo,
de desdichas desazón,
la prisión de la tristeza,
He observado las sonrisas,
en el álbum de mi vida,
he vivido las palabras,
y las voces de mi alma,
Pero nada comparado,
con el tiempo que he buscado,
las caricias y el tratado,
de aquel al que he amado.
Y de esto no me arrepiento,
de llorar y gritarle al viento,
que no me quito dolor ni penuria,
pero tampoco quito sentimiento.
Pero si en el camino que he recorrido,
cierta conclusión ha salido,
es que al fin, al cabo y al final,
sola viniste, y sola te irás.
Collige, virgo, rosaQue bien huelen las cenizas,
que un día fueron tu piel
el susurro del jazmín
el regozo de la miel.
Polvo nacemos, polvo morimos
siendo consecuencia nuestra
lo que hacemos en el camino
La rosa ya marchita
se llevó tu juventud
néctar de la vida
consecuencia de virtud.
Coge, dama, la rosa,
agarra su tallo fuerte
pues son cuestión de suerte
tanto vida como muerte.
Agarra, dama, no temas a pincharte
pues mientras la rosa siga fresca,
fresco seguirá tu arte.
Y cuando el tiempo te marchite.
cuando te devuelva a tu estado,
dama, rosa, serás polvo,
más serás polvo enamorado.
Teoria socialUna vez me pregunté
si de verdad había
que jugaba al ajedrez.
al son de una saeta
de vicios y mundanos
de mayor estúpidez.
Dale al vulgo lo que quiere
dales lo que quieren ver
dales morbo, que no hiere
sino alimenta su querer.
Para necios hablamos
pero bien sin confundir
que necios no nacimos
nadie quiso hacerte así.
Aprieta al perro la correa,
creéme, no lo ahogarás,
aprieta, perro, la correa,
porque sí le harás ladrar.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
The human condition of wanting to be everythingI feel as though I am exhausting
The excess skin around
in loose shadows
Across my cheekbones like
And whilst I find myself
To draw open the blinds
Because the light
is too bright
And I really can’t handle
The pane of the sky
With its obnoxious
glaring at me
With such a joyful expression
I know that lately
I am burning myself out
That I consume one too many
Cans of soda and energy drinks
At 2.45 AM
When the rest of the world
Is static in a hushed
Whilst I frantically try
To achieve something
Is too much
Or rather too
An existence for me
So I will continue
In order to
Try and destroy myself
Enough so that
I can be w h o l e
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
To the BeautifulYou say we're beautiful,
Us who have been bullied...
But where were you while it was happening?
-I was watching-
You who say "This has to stop!",
There needs to be an end to this...
What are you doing to stop it?
-I did nothing-
It's too late now...
-I failed you-
LuckyYou talk like you always have a grain of salt,
to throw over your shoulder.
Every word is that hard cheese,
and they swing those whimsical wishbones much like carousels.
You're wasted on your self-image,
staggering down with rigorousness you don't own.
They're taking that steed and throwing horseshoes,
as if one of them might ring 'round your neck;
and save you from yourself.
You'll need a necropolis filled with pennies to barter,
and we won't lend a cent to save your sorry soul.
Your demons count clovers to kiss you,
gluing that fourth leaf to camouflage the truth.
They'd promise you an elephant to watch you die,
sucking sevens to keep you from entering Heaven.
And you can sing your superstitions into space,
but it's dead and empty.
Somewhat like the hollow shell you lounge in,
as the charms make you see spirits.
You say somewhere there's a rabbit dying to give its foot in your favor...
...but don't bet on it unless you can see that whites of its eyes.
VYou've waded through the worst,
child, so dry your eyes,
they've got better things to do
than drain the sea.
tie a ribbon 'round your wrist
lest you forget
it's only in the sun
that the shadows don't shine,
and if you say
please and thank you
the dawn will come swift enough.
(to knock you off your sodden little feet)
Preludio de una locuraQuiero que encierres mi locura
entre cuatro paredes
quiero que atrapes mi desesperación
que la atrapes entre tus redes.
Quiero que borres de mi espejo
la sonrisa que no es mía
quiero que rompas mi reflejo
la cruel sonrisa de la ironía.
Quiero que mates mis demonios,
quiero que rompas mis placeres
quiero que escuches mi testimonio
quiero que mires y que esperes.
Quiero estar sola, quiero morir tranquila
angustiada por mi muerte, despreciada por la vida
no quiero que me llores, más no quiero que me olvides
quiero que me perdones, más no quiero que atrás mires.
Aquí ahora te voy a mostrar
el sentido de mi locura abismal
de como todo lo que comprendías
se deshace en tus manos como la noche del día.
No quiero que preguntes
no quiero que dudes
solo vas a oír defectos;
ya se han muerto mis virtudes.
Mi consciencia desaparece,
dando lugar a un mar negro
donde no hay barcos ni peces,
cosa de la que de hecho me alegro.
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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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