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A fool's diseaseYou don't need to be a doctor
To understand what ails me--
Examinations will reveal;
I've become foolish;
But only as foolish as my heart will let me be,
Logic is sound but awry;
Which means I cling to dreams,
Long after they have faded.
Wish on stars that long ago burned out,
I hope for miracles,
And hold dear charms and beliefs in the fey-folk,
And in the old magic of the world;
Oh and those things called 'happy-ever-afters'
Soul-mates and belong together.
Heartache the symptom,
A lover without true love
--the incurable romantic;
I'm afraid it might be terminal...
Love hurtsI’ve welcomed pain like and old friend-
For many years,
A constant companion
In my masochistic sense of romance.
It’s often been said;
‘you only hurt those you love’
--so I will say from you to me
There have been many blows dealt
I get back up after every beating,
And much to your ire
I just smile,
Wipe away the blood,
Bandage up all the cuts and bruises,
Polish the chains, oil the leather...
And just keep going.
DifficultI know I am difficult to love;
I only asked that you give it a shot
I’m sorry you can’t persevere with me any longer --
But I’m glad you tried.
Take a part of me with you,
And know that in my own way
I truly did-- I truly do love you .
But I’m difficult,
And can’t always find those words
Until its all far too late.
One more person...To you I am just another person.
With my quirks and habits;
Wry smile and nefarious laugh ,
The shoulder to lean on,
The helping hand--
And poetic talk of optimism,
When times feel most pessimistic.
I am the sum of my flesh;
Of my organs,
Of two-hundred-and-seventy bones,
Of many muscles (say six-hundred-and-fifty-six?)
And about eight or ten pints of blood.
One of quick wit and sharp tongue,
Sharper eye and erratic thought--
Unfaultable loyalty and hidden kindnesses.
Sweet of tooth , old of soul;
A library-minded changeling
Belonging nowhere now,
To you I am just another person,
But once you were my entire world.
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
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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