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Precious Littlewhen i ponder
and all of life's beautiful things; in all their timelessness
i also think;
and what precious, little
we have left
DissolutionYou compared it to walking in bare feet through a graveyard,
or trying to find a shard of ice in a box of broken glass,
when pain is not a distinguishing feature of anything -
you just have to feel the blood get colder.
So I laughed, and watched the dribble come down my finger,
the droplets pooling strangely, upside down puddles, on my finger-tips,
freezing like tiny algal blooms on the surface of my flaking skin.
Or so I imagined.
You were cold as a child, and you never really got over it.
You decided to buy a coat in the autumn,
but you forgot, and forgot, until all the saturdays were gone, and it was too late.
You slowly became more and more bruised that winter.
I wanted to kiss you, then,
but your skin was liquid,
and my mouth always came away coated in a little too much blood,
so you were content with just holding onto me, coughing your life into the fabric of my clothes.
I sometimes realised, just for a second, that I was the one who would bleed out.
It was like
OlimYou stepped very softly.
It seemed rather impossible, by my eyes,
to hide a single cadence, or a pinch of opium, between the softly feathered pages, so continuous
tears fall like meaningless prose from the pages, dripping into the endless deluge to be lost,
while billions of other things happen in billions of other places.
The book told us we'd been wandering too long,
although no-one believed it. The book said we'd be born again, in some other place. And people were divided.
And maintaining an image is just hard, so you decide to fluctuate, and then change your mind.
Just to keep in spirit, but you couldn't be sure. Leaving every room to shouts of abstract questions that slipped into the parallel.
They mostly just belonged to me, and the tiny things that walked around, and around, and around,
inside my head.
And I could try and kiss you,
but the Oesophagus that vanishes on the wall
knows you, and you are probably elsewhere.
Staggering punch-drunk through the city str
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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