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Fuck YouAnd this brown paper bag
filled with warm secrets,
that make me melt
from the inside out.
You say I'm masochistic,
that I crave the ache
And the burn of the knife
You slice through my spine
You bend me backwards-
contorting my limbs
just to spread my thighs.
For I was never made
to mold under your hands.
This liquid fire is
merely a reminder,
Of all the nasty little things
you have made me do.
You whispered, bit and tore
That [hollow] blood pumping
organ from out my chest.
Then, hid my heart away
under the floorboards
of your darkest dreams.
For this, you swore.
Impossible Things "I find myself staying wake to dream of you."
"I'm right here." He glanced up from the coffee I had just made him with that bemused, little crinkle between his brows that made me want to kiss him.
"I know," I felt heat creeping into my cheeks and I ducked my face into the steam of my cup to avoid the explanation. I tend to blush for no stupid reason when he looks at me. When I looked up he was still looking at me, though now he was smiling that impossibly sweet smile which made things even worse.
"I'm right here." He said again, reaching to take my hand across the tiny kitchen table. I let my eyes wander from his face all the way down his arm to our hands, his bigger ones almost enveloped mine completely making them look even smaller. My tiny fingers filled the spaces between his like missing puzzle pieces.
"But I stay awake anyway. I sta
WakeEyes meet, hands no longer touch. Smile meets grimace and the hope for compassion and understanding meets cynicism and a broken heart.
She's ruptured him, but there's no turning back.
It's been weeks since she's ever directly said something to him. It's been a few days since she didn't call him for Valentine's Day and it's been years (it seems) since she's let him touch her. And still she wonders why he brushes her away, doesn't make eye contact, doesn't create conversation.
She has ruined him.
So long ago they were something, so short of a time ago they were just about to start and they were going to last. Yet without any sort of explanation she flies away; leaves him in the winter cold for a new spark, for a flame that is stronger than anything she has with him.
She wishes she could apologize, but that's just how things happen. She did not mean to fall in love, did not mean to forget him so easily, did not mean to take his body and his trust and his time in an embrace that she knew w
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
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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