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Dear Trees, Five.dear trees,
every trip to the bathroom
is a trip to scrutinize myself.
Dear Trees, Four.Dear Trees,
grazing your palm with my finger tips, as we sat outside,
together caressed by the Florida winds named autumn.
But.. it's not really you I miss.
It's the bliss,
the calming and relaxing emotion,
that I miss.
The feeling of the two hearts beating,
with the nonchalance of the ages.
Dear Trees, Three.dear trees,
water is a figment of my imagination to the utmost degree.
sterling silver smooth creations wash over my finger tips.
massaging my face, and
i can't breathe.
i like it this way.
air is overrated.
Dear Trees, Two.dear trees,
yes, it will never happen.
yes, it hurts.
it comforts you.
it helps you sleep at night.
so think of it anyway.
get over yourself.
Dear Trees, One.dear trees,
you are a meat sack of confusion,
speaking in foreign extraterrestrial tongues,
that you yourself don't even comprehend.
with actions never speaking louder than words.
i twitch at the thought of your stride.
you've got me twisting, twirling,
crashing in the sea.
when will we be a smooth current?
my sails are ripping
something.I feel the world spinning when we're together.
I notice the specks of dust in the air around us.
I don't think of calories, or inevitable ends.
I think about you, and me, and us, and galaxies.
I think how world peace would feel a little like this.
Something fits with you.
I don't know if it's your sense of humor.
Your epic swagger, or your acquired way of speech.
But something definitely fits with you.
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