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Build God, then We'll TalkI walked down the sidewalk, still trying to figure out what to do. The world was shattering around me and all I wanted to do was scream. There was no one there for me to confide it, no one to hear me cry. I hugged myself against the bitter cold and felt my tears fall like ice down my cheeks, hoping they wouldn't freeze. I wasn't sure exactly where I was going, but I knew I couldn't go back. I couldn't deal with the heartache that was always in that house.
The strangers around me didn't seem to have anything to worry about. They were all too busy making phone calls and heading to the next business meeting to notice the girl shivering in just a sweatshirt and jeans. I looked at the people on the sidewalk and wondered how differently their lives were than mine. I noticed a couple holding hands, leaning against each other with smiles on their faces, and envied their intimacy, longing for a person of my own to love.
A horn honked and I realized that I was stepping into traffic when the ligh
I've spent so long in this state
But yet I fail to get used to it
I cannot bear this agonising wait
Descending in a sordid mental pit
At times it is too much to bear
Strangled by the constant despair
Damaged too much, beyond repair
Why is it that you refuse to care
Although deep down I'm too aware
There's nothing else I can ever be
It just hurts that it's not enough
Everyone else is much better than me
Held back by all that mental stuff
Only a tattered psychological ruin
Unable to accept this hideous fate
I No longer know what I am doing
Never managing to think straight
You only just see straight through
Staring beyond this ugly apperition
My form horrid, polluting your view
Regardless of my friendly ambition
Cast back and listlessly cast aside
Those eyes are trapped elsewhere
While I'm painfully dying inside
A life halted and going nowhere
Left wallowing in my own discontent
Amongst the broken peices of dreams
Lying shattered, broken and bent
Can't really be as bad as i
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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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