|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
wisdom i do not understand,we as people string along the words we say behind us like the bread crumbs leading us back home. but to our suprise and no avail, we never completely turn around, rewind, go back to where we started. we stay in our mute spots and never know how to move forward. or everytime we go back to start, we do not collect two hundred dollars. we just fuck up over and over again, hoping that someone out there can help us get it right.
be my secret, just for now.i want to be one of your deepest secrets.
i want to be the one that pretends not to care but is really sitting in the field after dark below the full moon waiting for you to come and tell me "it's okay, i'm here now." i want to be the one you run to when you're lonely and who you call when you just need to hear my voice before your head hits the pillow at three in the afternoon. i want to be the one who you can't tell your friends about because you're afraid of jinxing it, and i want to be the one that picks you up after work and makes you laugh and who leans over from the drivers seat to kiss you and i want to be the one that gets to tell you she loves you and means it.
i want to be your everything, again.
it's in the way you smile and the way you walk and the silly way you dress. it's in the way you stare and the way you look at me and the way your pupils become wider as i hold your hand and tell you i love you.
it's in the way the stars seem to align and the way the moon glows and t
stop, drop, lose control.your funeral will be full of ghosts.
they will lie in the ground next to your miserable corpse and sing you lyrical rhymes in morse code. their bloody hands will ring themselves around your neck, and leave bruises that turn shades of chartreuse and lavender. they will be shaped like spades and diamonds and will have no deeper meaning than of which to say how much you gambled with fate.
your ghost of passion will tell you tales of your heart. it will remind you of the nights you spent with me, lying on the couch. and of the times when we finally realized what we really needed. it will remind you of our kisses and of the way we felt in eachothers arms. it will ignite a new flame that you didn't know you had, since you stopped seeing me.
the ghost of christmas past will tell you that you need to learn to wrap your presence better. make sure you do not seem too careless, and make sure you look neat and tidy and like something jolly ol' saint nick would like to leave for me under a pi
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
Keep in Touch!
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