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The Trump Card. I walked through the old fair grounds, trying to find something in the least bit entertaining to do. I rode all the rides, ate funnel cake, and played all of the games. But I had a feeling I might of missed something. Eh, who would normally care, right? I mean, you rode everything. But this was a tad different. My friends wanted me to do everything at the fair, because I had only been once in my life.
I continued to walk around, until I stumbled upon what seemed to be an old, circus tent. Me being who I am, my curiosity got the best of me. I glanced at the tent a bit, seeing the... bland colors. Nothing but black and white. I looked up at the top, to see if it had anything. All that was there was a sign that said "Dark Raven's Telling." I noticed a light glowing through the tent. It seemed like a lantern. I pondered for a moment, thinking if I should go in or not. Again, me being the curious person I was, I went in for a little look.
The only thing that was really not
Go To SLEEP. -Jeff the Killer Poem-The black haired boy looked in the mirror.
All he could see that his end was growing nearer.
He smiled for a moment, but he was in pain.
He knew for a fact he was going insane.
He laughed and laughed.
He took a knife and made his little scary "craft"
He cut a smile into his mouth.
In his mind he looked beautiful, without a doubt.
He walked in his room and looked for a lighter.
He turned it on, the fume growing brighter.
He burnt out his eyelids, laughing more and more.
Then he threw the little lighter down to the floor.
He picked up the knife he took in his room.
He would no longer be consumed by gloom.
The boy walked down to the end of the hall.
He knew that they would pay, pay for it all.
He slipped in to the room, quiet as a mouse.
He knew the way around his very own house.
He took the knife and stabbed his kin.
He didn't care, he knew it was sin.
As the knife went deeper than deep.
You could here the very faint whisper.
"Go to sleep."
Mexico short story. -Hetalia-Mexico raced down the long garden that him and his brothers were playing in, trying to catch up to his brother. "Wait, Toni!" He said, still running after his older brother, Spain. They were playing hide and seek, and Mexico was it. He was playing with his brothers, Spain and Portugal. They were both older than him by a few years, and they always picked on him. Mexico wanted to show them that he could be just like them, but every time he tried something, Spain 'the boss' told him that he could never be like them, and that made Mexico very upset. He never knew why.
'Why do they hate me?' He thought to himself, still chasing after Spain. Portugal was hiding in a tree, watching his youngest brother chase after the other. He chuckled at the thought that Mexico said that he could catch Spain. Portugal tried to climb the tree higher, but made a wrong step. He slipped and fell all the way down to the ground with a thud. Mexico and Spain stopped immediately once they heard their brother wince
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
I've ForgottenWhen she died
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
love didn't matter, but home was with youi.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebushes that
were too stained to be called
me that sometimes
love doesn't matter, and
i (did)n't want to
you asked me once if anything
mattered, a lighter
gracing one hand and a
cigarette lining your
lips. i wasn't
sure back then
and i don't know
if i am now
(but i think i want to say yes).
my body never felt
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
Diamond TearIn silence
I observe them
Laughing and having fun
While I'm in my corner
I feel out of place
I don't belong here
So I leave
And no one notices
Now I'm out on the street
A dark and silent one
Enjoying the breeze
Lost in my thoughts
Suddenly I hear a sob
And I look around
I see a girl
Sitting on a bench
A single diamond tear
Running down her face
I don't know her
No one else is around
I could just leave
But I can't
So I sit by her side and ask
Without looking her in the eyes
For a moment
And then she takes my hand
And we look
Into each other's eyes
And she whispers
Oxtails (Collab w/ TwilightPoetess)Somewhere between oxen and orchid,
where cattails and foxgloves wilt and weep
at the parting of another fleeing day
and stormed cloud-castles mutiny
against the weight of the rocksalt moon;
somewhere between flightless and fading,
where faery circles and dandelion crowns fall--
somewhere, beneath bark mosaiced with age,
you will siphon the remains of my heart--
churned smooth by false hope’s abuse--
into dehydrated dirt that groans for it.
I will clot the crumbling veins of anthills
with the iron debris that was once us,
until I become orchid or foxglove once more.
Confusion and Illusion.Confusion and Illusion.
Looking at everyone walk by,
Seeing them all smile, and I don't know why.
Even as rain pours down, I still don't see a frown.
It confuses me, but yet that is all I see.
It's pretty much my life,
Not being able to tell why people act the way they do.
It's like being in a room with no emotion.
That is my life.
Being locked away in a room with the ghosts.
The ghosts of my past, and all I see is doom.
Doom, doom, doom. In a small little room.
The walls are a bright sky blue.
And hearing the 'coo' of the birds outside.
It makes me know what my life is.
It's not confusion.
...It's just an illusion...
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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