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au revoir.and you make my heart glow, resplendently through pale skin,
like a sun during gloam. i couldn't ask for much more, could i?
up is where you took me; everything seems simpler in the clouds.
if i could just stay for a while, i bet i'd have an epiphany,
and i bet it'd be about you.
reality has always hit me spontaniously - a piano in the face.
and it's always nonsense.
i have seen the real truth, and it doesn't make sense.
maybe it's not supposed to.
everyday at exactly 11:11 am and 11:11pm. i make a wish.
it's always the same three wishes.
"i wish i knew what to wish for."
"please, please, save me. help me, please."
venturing alone by a waterfall in serene but silent woods.
what surrounds you? what do you smell?
where do you go, which tree do you make a turn at?
what do you see to make you cringe, or smile, or do nothing?
i know the answer: peace.
only at nighttime o i give mysef permission to have those thoughts.
those thoughts of eath, and lonliness and sadness and
we are kids.wrinkles,
deep within the creases were
a pattern of x's
grazes aceross the surface.
oh, "you are soft." oh, you are.
there is a petting,
marble white, silk soft.
yes, you are.
tiny hairs of ink
sprout from your surface
and flow in the oxygen
emerging from two light open doors.
breath is pulled and pushed.
bumps have formed.
but you are still fluffy.
over the hills and through the river.
a run way of cotton soft floors,
eventually leading to
a thin surface with something hard beneath.
your skin is
c'est chouette.there's a tree with a hole in it at the entrance to our complex. we used to leave notes in it for one another until Mr. and Mrs. squirrel popped in. (i'll never forget my shock when i was face to face with that mama.) but even then, we left the notes in a camoflaged spot next to the tree. i loved that everyday. day as horrid as could be, i would get off that bus, go to that tree, and smile. always.i kept all of your letters in a manilla folder between my chemistry and grench text books, so noone would see it. i reread them so many times, even memorized some.
you numbered them. i adored the fact that you thuoght it important to add that number. never once was it missing, never once was it incorrect, never once was it erased and rewritten. it was always perfect, as were you. i dated mine. i gess that in essence it was the same thing. but i countlessly messed up. now, i didn't forget, i just killed a family of erasers.
what did we even talk about? the weather?
school? just day by day thin
white chocolatemy dream is to live near you.
i would perch on your window sill like a resplendent mockingbird and hum along with you
while you strum your strings and sing your words of emotion that you share with me.
and as an alice i will whisper - and have the right to wisper - "alice and virgil" quietly to myself,
away from your ears, but close to mine.
and we will sit humming, sipping our apple juice and nibbling our gummy bears, two perfect peas.
i want to taste the ground with my feet, because i have the grace of a butterfly, an alice.
it will taste like fresh rain from april's showers. salty. but i will taste it some more, because that is what i'm made for.
i can say "we alice's" and explain to strangers how alice's do not fly; they soar,
leaving behind long bilowy stardust trails sprinkled in the moonlight's rays. how they do not stray from their paths.
i want to be a beauty. i'll clean my wings so that their white is pearl and their blue is sky,
because bone and ocean don't flatter as
A Short Story Wind whistles, rummaging through the branches of robot trees. Sharp, thin metal slices through quick air, and it hisses in return. The sounds pick up and my hair flows high, fervently in the wind.
"Alright, alright. Calm down already."
....Silence. That happens to me a lot. I like to think the wind loves me, because it always answers when I call it. No one else does.
"Okay..you can continue." The hissing and whistling and slicing and blowing commense almost immediately. Shiny leaves quiver with irritation as i snuggle down into my thick blue scarf and cotton jacket. I'm hoping for warmth. It doesn't come. These were my ultimate dilemmas; the wind loved me, and the weather didn't.
I trudge through thick snow. "This will be a quick run to the store and back." is what I told myself. God, was I always wrong. Though, on the bright side, this did give me some unplann
She Had Wings.we are birds caressing the ocean with our feet.
the dance floor is our atlantic; broad, smooth.
his eyes are ash flowing in the wind,
where hers are just puddles of mud.
once in a while, talk about the old days.
we brought violins and guitars into your hospital room,
playing sugary melodies until you left us to sleep,
with a smile made of dust and smoke.
laying on a beach watching the sun rise.
it goes up high into the sky, and then it will descend.
a day, a night. the prettiest thing in the world,
besides the sight of him watching it with her.
what can she say? she's a dreamer.
the mud makes the body of water stand, it is the ultimate support.
acoustics raise the dead daily. they have always made corpses smile.
her body is sand, merging with the beach. they are one.
but, they have always been one.
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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