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Every Night is Tomorrow A muffled scream
That no one hears.
Into her pillow, every night
She cries her tears.
A shining blade
To pale Skin.
Onto the floor, every night
She bleeds her sin.
A scissors bite
To ruffled hair.
She cuts the strands tonight
Because she knows no one will care.
A shaking hand,
The bottle spills.
She shuts her eyes tonight
As she swallows all the pills.
A bright light
Against the black
She thinks no one will notice tomorrow,
When she doesn't come back.
A siren sounds
and they roll her away
We'll know her fate tomorrow,
If She'll live to see today.
Let Me InWe all deserve to be tired and stubborn sometimes.
Tonight it’s your turn.
It’s what you deserve;
But let me help. Let me in.
I’m knocking on the doors of your eyelids screaming “Look at me!”
Why are your doors still closed?
Why do you keep your soul locked behind your tears?
Can’t you hear me?
Let me sing you the wind.
Baby, don’t block your ears.
Let the sound flow in
So I can sing you to sleep and steal your fears.
Let me into your heart.
Let me crawl down your throat;
Let me clear away the sobs.
Let me breath for you.
Love, float away with me.
I’ll be the sails on your boat.
Don’t shiver in the freezing wind.
When the ice takes hold let me be your coat.
Let me shelter you and warm you until I freeze.
And when spring flowers grow from the mud
Throw me off and feel the breeze.
Let me be the lemon in your lemonade; give me a squeeze.
When you’re going nowhere
Let me be your nowhere.
Let me be the place you go
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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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