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Waiting With StrangersYou know what blows my mind? Strangers. Well, not just strangers, but the contrast between strangers and friends. I notice it a lot more when I'm forced to be around strangers for extended periods of time. It happens hundreds of times every day. Bus stops, elevators, restaurants, waiting rooms. I start to wonder about these people, these strangers. I'm not too great at reading faces, but I still try. Its hard not to wonder about them. Why are they here? Where did they come from? What are they really like? In a certain way you start to know them. You begin to recognize bits and pieces of emotion in their faces, emotion that you go through each and every day. A grimace, a half-grin, eyes that stare listlessly at the ground, their owner clearly lost in thought. Its the kind of stuff you hide from anyone that you consider a friend. No one wants to be friends with someone like that. Someone who lets their pain shine through, someone "troubled", someone "depressed". Someone who has the intel
Milo Milo stood perfectly still. It seemed almost a crime to upset the silence of the landscape that surrounded him, a landscape that seemed to listen closely for even the slightest disturbance. Standing at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere and and trying to decide which direction to head, the trees to either side seemed to close in around him, muffling even the normal sounds of nature. Milo looked up to the dark gray sky above him, just as the first drops of rain began to fall. He reflected on the long journey that each drop rushed to complete, only to shatter to a million pieces upon reaching its destination. Suddenly his own journey seemed much less urgent.
Slowly, he turned right and began to walk along the road. Shortly the road became smaller and eventually it turned into a dirt path through the woods. Today marked the fifth day since Milo had left his familys farm. His father had
Clotho's Danceand the song
as the stars
all fell in time
as intended to fall
and so we danced on
in crowded dancehall
new dancers appeared
and old ones departed
the dance stole partners
with whom we had started
and some times the beat
was decidedly off and
Rooftop SestinaOne day as atop my roof I sat
Upon the street below I looked
And beheld the people as they went
From atop my private perch
How small these people seemed
All in haste about their tasks
All caught up in fleeting tasks
Not one beheld me where I sat
Too engrossed in life they seemed
To see from whence I looked
They spied not my favored perch
And as quickly came as went
Wondering where the time went
They rushed to their silly tasks
And I laughed from atop my perch
Almost falling from where I sat
Like a swirling sea the ground looked
Higher had I gone, or so it seemed
Ever so small this ground seemed
That quickly fear came and went
How unreal the ground looked
And the people about their tasks
I was tempted to leap from where I sat
Just to prove the truth of my perch
I stood halfway off my perch
And halfway upon air that seemed
Real as the roof on which Id sat
And down below the people went
They and I content with our tasks
I closed my eyes as no one looked
Ground grew close and up I lo
Making Lonely Little StainsI spilled wine on the camera
And it got drunk with me
It took pictures of a time
That I have yet to see
So unlike my memories
Are these photographs
They look just like my book
Filled with foreign autographs
I spilled wine on the banister
And it got angry with me
It let me tumble away
Because revenge is easy
It left me sore and crumpled
At the bottom of the floor
All on behalf of spilled wine
And I just wanted more
I spilled wine upon the floor
But not from within my cup
And no longer could I stand
Nor tell which way was up
And as I lay there wondering
Just who would come and save me
I came to a realization
That continues to amaze me
I spill wine between my lips
To make my world worth taking
And I have lived for many years
Content with inebriation
And as I lay upon the ground
I feared not being forgot
I was renowned within the city
I excelled in the dark
I spilled wine on the camera
And it got drunk and shot me
And someone followed suit
Their face too dark to see
And out of deafening da
Spring, RebornThe wintry ash disappears from the ground
And a phoenix is born in the east
Its less mythic kin are all northern bound
Their internment down south having ceased
Their voices call out in harmonious song
No voice out of tune in the least
And the beautiful song reaches very far down
And awakens the slumbering beast
The beasts and the birds have all come around
To sing and to dance and to feast
In warm springtime air their voices resound
"Til the phoenix once more is deceased
HolesHoles in my clothing
And holes in my mind
And holes in the ceiling
That raindrops will find
They fall from the heavens
And slip through the holes
Right through the ceiling;
My mind; My clothes
The liquid, it pools
Collects in my mind
It coats every crevasse
Or cracks it can find
But my mind works better
When something's not right
Raindrops won't break it
Or decrease its sight
And my clothes fit better
Once they've been drenched
They cling to my arms
Like fists tightly clenched
Little fists with little holes
Their knuckles dark and bruised
Beaten and broken and beaten again
From years of heartfelt abuse
Rain continues to fall
Through the holes in my ceiling
It slowly pools on the floor
The linoleum is peeling
But a house that's gone to waste
Seems just about right for me
It seems to match my person
Or who I've been lately
Yes, holes in the ceiling
Are really right for me
These holes are like theatres
And this show is for free
At night I just look on up
When the stars all shine on throug
Words UnspokenWords are stronger than blows
But silence is stronger still
So throw your blows at me
Like we both know you will
And I'll maintain my silence
As you maintain your pride
But you're throwing away your dignity
When I don't dodge or hide
But in a way you save me
With every punch you throw
Pain at least makes sense to me
In fact its all I know
So set me free from this debris
That was me once upon a time
And show me how to know me
When to be me is a crime
Its no blunder to make some thunder;
Break asunder my outer shell
There's got to be some truth to me
Underneath this wretched hell
And words are stronger than your blows
And my silence is stronger still
So throw your fists, throw your life away
Like we both know you will
Kill meKing of the damned
I can't live like that
Leave me to die
Let this nightmare end
My friend, please
End my life
A reasonOur love
You had to
A single one
The Russian Sleep Experiment: Sleep Beyond DreamsRending sanity’s veil as I lie comatose, awake
Awakening to find I cannot feel my face
Face-to-face with my own weakness, I break
Breaking down, everything falls away
Away from here, anywhere, I think I’ll leave
“LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU MONSTERS!” What?
What am I? I am not me, this is another’s hand
Handshakes and experiments, that is why I am here
Here in this space outside of time I am free
Freely I crawl, rip the hairless monkey to shreds
Shredding reality, I am soon put back to sleep
Sleep is temporary, my kind will wake again
Boy Who Ate BugsPush your head down
towards that brown
dirty, wet ground
You see all these bugs
the ants, the worms
And put them
into your dinky mouth
I hear your parents screaming
Skeletal (Simplicity)Skulls aligned through discolorations and formation.
Alphabetically memorized throughout varied pitches.
Stability ensures the most invisible of imperfections.
Upon skeletal, metallic structures my collection exists.
Throughout its placement upon spiteful rats and rhymes-
A molded, vibrant smoothness echoes briny walls.
Tenderness of delicacies flows within certain of mellowness.
As hideousness ensnares specific steps and falls.
And as I enclose oceans throughout muffled sound-
Twice a carcass arises throughout ashen sands.
Morally, the presentation which drips blood throughout quills.
One composition of thrice for overwhelming of lands.
Barbed Wire BallerinaShe spins and twirls with absolute elegance,
The silent whisper of her dance and art,
Watching her every graceful move from the third row.
Her paleness is like the moons shimmering glare on a wintry sky,
And her thin, swift body is beyond words of expression,
As the orchestra wails of a tragedy,
She entangles you into ever cry, every sorrow, every loss
Deep within the tale.
When the curtain shrouds the remains of the performance,
I stand with the crowd to clap and cheer,
Awaiting for a chance to escape the third row.
As the crowd slowly drifts from the ballroom,
I sneak around to the doors leading to backstage,
And as I set foot in their dressing rooms,
I find her still wearing some of the tragic beauty from the show.
I tremble in my skin whether from anxiety or disbelief,
Her perfection and exquisite entirety strangles me to near faint,
And when she sensed presence and turned to look at me,
When she spoke... spoke with a voice angels would sin for.
I could not answer any of the questi
Vampire LamentVampire Lament
Vampires need to sooth their minds
The desire for blood is overwhelming
They need music to ease the pain
And help them deal with their manic obsession
The vampire Clara plays the violin
In a cemetery full of lost souls
She plays a vampire lament
They kill humans but they have regret
They long for death
But are driven by their mania
It is a life of everlasting pain
The emotion of the music is over-powering
And tears roll down her face
She remembers all those she has killed
Or turned into vampires
To live in torment forever
The music is beautiful and emotional
It is full of loss and regret
If you hear the vampire lament
There will be tears in your eyes
These vampires deserve our pity
But do not show them mercy
For they will take away your soul
And you will suffer for eternity
Black Widow VIIInosedive
s a g o n
p l o f t
i i u c r
r n t o o
if only it could metastasize more quickly... who knew spiders could develop cancer?
Daddy had cancer too. He came home from work one day and went into the kitchen to see my mother. He never came out. Why do I remember this now? And I scream
L I G H T N I NG E X P L O D E S
CrusaderIn the one hand, a rosary.
In the other, a sword.
In his eyes, the fire of a man following God.
In his breast, the heart of a religious warrior.
In the one hand, a sword.
In the other, a rosary.
In his path, the enemies of his God.
In his wake, men who've met their's.
In the one hand, a sword.
In the other, a bloody knife.
In his eyes, the fire of a killer.
In his wake, a rosary, discarded and forgotten.
In the one hand, a sword.
In the other, a growing gash.
In his eyes, the glint of a man gone mad.
In his heart, a void in which God once dwelled.
In the one hand, a sword.
Of the other, naught remains.
In his breast, the cold steel of a foe.
In his eyes, the blank stare of the damned.
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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