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Firefly Mar 2015
Fire is inside you,
Inside me,
Little one,
Born at the bon fires at night,
Born of greed; greedy lust.
They all took me here,
Took your mother away,
Flung her sweet face to dirt,
Where she tasted the moss,
And felt the fire;
Pain; pleasure rain.
I used to fear, you'd born dire,
The cleft lip that marks a sad life,
Being born with no legs!
How I feel now, legless,
For I am unable to move,
Except for a little cringe,
As fiery rods were forced inside me.
But I must confess,
That I started to like the way that felt,
But that was before,
Before the last of the cuts opened within me,
And a gore and blood mixture drained.
But my sweet child,
You were also born to the sweet scents of night-woods,
Born of the moon and stars; dark and light.
And your cries made me regret,
No! No! Never did I regret you; my life,
I regretted my thoughts,
Those of penetrating myself with cold, steel rod,
A real one, mind you,
And I attempted to pierce your developing heart,
To **** you and end my fears,
I feared in my mind you would be born with the features of sin,
But lo! It is not so, my sweet, sweet baby.
I was not impregnated by those men,
I was not impregnated by the weak trickle of life,
That spews from their desire-rods.
My dear boy,
I was impregnated by the lovely night!
Sweet, sweet night......
A fantasized version of a dire secret my mother shared with me.
Firefly Mar 2015
This is no life,
Ev'r being invisible.
Our shadows know each other not.
Every night we arrive here,
At top of hill, under owl's secret bow'r,
To ****** her ancient, solitary reign,
Near imagin'd tow'r.
We dance around our fires,
Some singing, a few braying,
This is our noon-night dance.
Some great secret hidden among the folds of the hill.
We here, we shadows, are a rather strange coven.
We come here to feel,
Every individual among the hidden.
We all are numb before this hill,
We radiate sameness in the fake world out there,
But here we are as different as the Moon from the Sun,
Our two personalities no longer clashing.
As the little sparkle of freedom,
The untainted, dark-light finally shines through,
As it spreads and ensnare our senses,
We feel,
We feel the light-heat soothing numb limbs,
We feel the heat-light caressing strange, blue hearts.
And here we are,
Fully, finally, awakened.
4, March 2015, by Z.Carter or MoonFirefly
Firefly Mar 2015
I am who whispers to the stars,
For the little stream,
I cried to replenish everything now down-wind.
Many saw me,
Playing sweet lyre, my fingers blue,
Under pale moon, my hair silver.
They all stood a ways away, watching,
All seemed lifeless statues, grey in the moonlight,
Solemn and austere, blue and unyielding.
The cold never seemed to bother them,
Standing there shell-shocked, eyes-locked,
Lo the wonder in their eyes.
I now slowly begin to enjoy myself.
'Twas easy to pluck the strings of their hearts,
I'd give them a gentle caress,
Then suddenly a catatonic strum.
But as it always turns out, I am the one truly shell-shocked.
It's just the way the indifference mingles with increasing fear,
As if this is all okay, but there is something wrong,
Something sneaky and dangerous,
And that their minds are nearing th'inevitable conclusion,
To near-see truth behind their mindless crave,
The truth of how beauty creates such awe,
And leaves them all in such dire, treacherous need.
4, March, 2015, by Z.Carter or MoonFirefly
Firefly Mar 2015
He is thick night,
He crawls, whimpers, scratch,
He bites at my throat,
In frightening dreams and out,
A thrill to hear me scream,
Heart beats faster, pushes him over.
He is the cold that creeps up my toes;
The broken, ****** fingers feeling me;
The cracked lips scraping against my neck,
As his silver fangs scratches my vein.
He was the straight jacket,
Reassuring my insanity.
Can I please him?
Can I scream that high,
Scream till I give him goosebumps?
Scream till he begs me to stop.
I'll make him writhe,
Make his toes curl,
Make him buck and grind.
Can he scream my name?
Can he please me and my dark desire?
I'll run my burnt nails along his thigh,
I command him,
The King Disaster.
For he is mine,
My fear,
My fear that makes my heart race to ecstasy.
I'll make him feel all night,
Before the cold,
Before he returns to your world and the...
Fright, screams, the cold and dark dreams.
I fear he must go,
And I must await its return,
He is it, not a he,
Fear is a thing, a wild thing.
He is fear,
And I,
I am fear's master.
Another poem for my collection of recollections of my cracked;contorted past.
I think this may be the most unclear of them all. Thank you for reading.
Firefly Mar 2015
It shatters,
Into tiny green shards.
Peaceful garden turned rubble.
He is like dirt, he likes the ruin.
When he felt the pain of seeing,
He knew,
He saw it all happen.
Lithe form merging with rough hands,
He sighs now, remembering,
All that happened before,
All he had seen,
It didn't happen twice, thrice, nor six times,
Times are more, his mind has grown more,
His heart pumps rage more.
Rue, crumble, contort, free!
All he felt before,
And all that came now, he let them be.
The rage, blue-flames, wrath,
His unbecoming and rebirth,
Then ashes and flames,
Now sin and woe,
Next tears and rubble,
And finally silence,
Terrible silince, terribly wrong.
He is effluence
Effluence is wrath.
The third poem in my still unnamed series about specific seasons in my life that changed me forever. Thank you for reading.
Firefly Mar 2015
I see hands,
Around throat,
Claws digging into skin, scratching pulpers.
Moans; sounds of ecstasy.
He likes pain,
He wants you to cut him, kiss him,
Shrugs, doesn't matter.
He dreams of razor kisses,
Dark bars,
Pool and wild darts.
Giggling in the blue, fluorescent corners,
They lick, nip, nibble, taste!
He is on the edge of phenomenal feeling,
Leaning over; falling in.
Perfect time to cut his throat,
Tie a noose in imagination's eye,
He would love that,
If you gave him pain,
So he can moan again.
Now you know his world,
What he likes.
He is fire,
He is pain.
This is the second poem in a series I wrote to reflect on how I felt at different points in my sixteen years. All I hope is that someone tries to see beyond what I wrote and figure out what exactly happened to me during these periods, and also I hope someone might figure out who these boys are that I write of and how they impacted me and my life. Thank you for all who are willing to try and help. - MoonFirefly
Firefly Mar 2015
Epic fires exploded behind me,
Giving my greased-up hair more shine.
The look on his face, horror,
My limbs stretched, strings of flesh holding together,
He screamed,
My head flung back, smile,
Contorted dark desire.
He screamed again,
This time one of high ******* proportions
Scream, lust, fear, urge!
Moonlight  now dancing among light-fire,
Space burning,
Limping, backbones growing to Earth.
Growing smile.
"Wider! Wider!" I screamed,
Growing smile, lengthening, graying hair,
Blueing heart, ashy bones, growing smile.
He screams, seemingly forgetting feet,
He screams, real mis'ry melting his face.
He screams...... Awake now,
Alone in his midnight room.
I stand in the darkest of the shadows,
Waiting to be washed away,
By the light of dawn.
This poem is the first in a series of poems that I have written to reflect on my feelings  and emotions over a certain period of time during the worst and first sixteen years of my life. A poem for each period, a tear for each time I have been broken(I try not to force them) please read and please try to understand.
Firefly Mar 2015
Fireflies fluttered past my window,
Silhouette the moon,
Unable to resist, I crawled out,
Moist, night-covered grass flattened beneath me,
I looked about,
Trying to spot light in this dark, tree-filed space,
A tickle behind my ear,
A loud giggle threatening to erupt,
I spun around, not wanting to stop.
How amazing it is to feel this free.
But suddenly there was an orange glimmer,
And again no resistance surfaced,
To spin again, taste freedom.
I am no longer trying to catch fire-light.
Nearly all disappeared at once,
Except one, staying afloat head-high.
'Twas afore my eyes, alluring, being of night,
It flickered on and off, a living switch-light,
Then it began to lead me on,
Confident I'd follow,
Of course, there was no resistance.
I'm a silhouette now,
Moving between the trees,
Tiny light leading darkness on,
Both appearing less and less,
Dark and Light,
Both parts of night.
Written while thinking of a dear friend.
Firefly Mar 2015
The sky boat floated just beneath the moon,
Just above imagined ivy-mantled tower.
Gold-flecked, ivory clouds just out of reach,
Like the firefly,
Suspended just ahead, pale then gold-light,
Beautiful against brilliant 12 O'clock blue,
Blue deep as overwhelming sea,
Tear-jerking, snare of senses,
Lo this sight of feeling,
Mem'ry of freedom livid,
Warming; caressing once stone-tight grey
Entranced by a sudden breeze,
A taste of grass, scent of ocean and sand,
Feeling of spirit, sounds of heavy moth wings,
As a whole, finally, an image of embodied freedom.
Suddenly something bubbles up, crawling along skin,
Dragging along newly heightened expectation.
My Firefly glows ever brighter, deep fire-light,
But still a little less than Moon Mother above,
So bright, capable of ling'grin behind closed lids,
Permanent, like this new hope,
A hope like a wish newly formed,
Warm and vulnerable and free.

— The End —