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CrackedThere's a crack in the floor.
I cling to it with my eyes like it's a balloon string.
Crouched in on myself, nails cutting in to my calves,
Sneakers clip by mere feet away
But I try not to notice
And I try not to wonder
If they have to try not to notice.
If I'm still long enough,
If I breathe small enough that my chest doesn't move,
And everything else is faded away -
Save the pain of my nails cutting into my calves -
I'll be just like that crack.
And I pray that they'll notice before I fall through.
TowersIn a very tall tower deep within the island of wilderness surrounded by the several townships of the land there was a girl. She didn't know how she had come to be there, or why she had come to be there, or when she had come to be there, or if she had even come to be there at all. It most often seemed that her and the tower's existence were inextricably wound, that the tower existed because she existed and that she existed because the tower existed, and that asking how she came to be in this tower was like asking what it is like to not be.
As often as this did seem to be the case, she even more often wished to escape from this tower. It was lonely, and the walls at times loomed so oppressively over her, taunting her weakness and isolation, that she would sob painfully so the noise she created could provide some type of company.
But how could she leave? The tower had no apparent way down, no staircase, no door, and only a single window that opened onto a balcony many yards above the grou
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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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