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Feline FatalityEyes sealed shut,
With limbs struggling to-
I feel wetness;
On my nose.
And a tickling sensation-
Upon my twenty newborn toes.
I think I have fur;
And a tail that likes to move
Soon I'll be able to see,
And soon you'll say good bye to me.
I'm eight lives shy-
Of our lifespan's expectancy.
I Counted To Three.Just like you asked me to.
Your curiously distanced kiss;
Tracing my thin plumped lips.
I think I knew-
You were leaving;
Before I opened my eyes.
I began to miss you,
I heard your fast paced footsteps cease.
SoapscumSticky spiderwebs decourate our moldy shower walls extravagantly.
With skin so hot,
From heated water:
Pounding down my bare back.
I feel so cold.
Hands shake from lack of sugar in my-
Blue blood stream,
That sometimes leaks,
Razors that make my skin scream in,
Pruny from standing here so long.
Waiting for you-
To come save me.
My Face's Perspective.Covered in a casual masquerade mask-
Mascara smears my stubborn lashes a darker black.
Accidental tears curiously crawl out-
Smearing my painted eyes hidden from other's sight.
Stranger danger attention brings obnoxious embarrassment-
And heat stains my usually uncoloured cheeks a pale pink.
Often I feel I cannot breathe;
As she covers me day after day continuously.
Then there's those awkward moments before our mirror-
I see myself bare,
Only to find I don't recognize myself.
Looking sad without a painted smile-
I think she sees her non-existent dad.
Schizophrenia Is Me.Whisper, whisper - Dear, can you hear?
Into my ear,
They scream- frown,
"Turn (the) volume down!"
Psst... The volume is off dear,
Do you feel fear?
Shh, for you are-
One of us- stars.
Shining bright- invisible,
But only for,
A few hours more.
Prematurely Beautiful.She lays-
Cold and limp;
With stained hands laid out,
Rusty nails embedded-
Alike to God’s poor son;
Whom some pray to-
On two faced knees.
-In her skin.
Eight feet (b)‘low;
Where we take in our-
Damp need to live.
Her child eyes hold the stain,
Of plain pain-
And faked half assed joy;
Of a life where she lived in a house full of old men.
With not her,
But the blush dusted sea shell she had as her face’s skin.
75 Cents.I will smile bright-
With Black and-
Blotchy polka dots;
On the inside of my seemingly,
I've got wings
Strung up on-
And my halo;
It was plastic-
I Lost Myself.Somewhere;
Within the ocean's-
Overly sensitive serenity.
I can feel,
My twisted innards unwillingly-
As our burning sun-
Falls beneath a cotton candy horizon.
I'm fishing for my (anchor adorned) sinking personality-
But I think I lost track of my wiggling bait a long time ago.
Skeletons For The Poised.Cracked windows standing with frames falling halfway off watch-
Dusty cotton masses blow by wishing to fly but cursed by gravity.
Mousy mumbles bounce from paper thin often gossiping walls;
Once held so high in surgically plastic esteem for the filthy rich and their condemned souls.
They hired a fancy wall painter and forgot his name-
More worried about their death adorned secrets known to no living being for long.
They are telling a warning-
You may catch a deathly glimpse,
Of the haunted past,
And see the violence that-
Stained these walls a tainted red.
There is no heaven-
There is no hell.
There's just reality;
NaPoWriMo Day: 1I’ve got 30 days
to defy Icarus:
teach this rose thorn heart
how to fly.
[ All I want to be
is the space between
But, I’m here,
ripping holes in blank pages
while nursing nebulae knuckles
with white plastered walls.
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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