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A far off dream is like a scattered thought. A scattered thought is like a far dream. I want to make sense of them.
Keegan lay against the cool, moist earth. Not sure what to make of the world around her. The sky, a liquid indigo with bright white speckles mixed in.
Stupid Lenzo. She said to herself. Lenzo was a classmate of hers at the Academy. He showed up out of nowhere one day in September and soon the tow became friends. They usually sat in the library during free hours; Lenzo pouring over thick volumes of books, while Keegan jotted down notes or doodled in a notebook. The only reason she now lay in the empty field was that a number of things had happened in a short amount of time.
The first to happen was a tall man with long dark hair and a scare across his face appeared in front of Lenzo at the bookstore. The man held him pinned to a shelf for a good five minutes before letting him go.
You cant just Leave that easily. We will find you. He said as Le
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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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