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the demons always winyou can fill my heart will all your might.
try to weed out the sorrow lining it's depths.
whisper to me that i will not fall,
tell me that i won't lose it all.
you can kiss me on the lips, after you've licked away the tears.
and sit and wait for me to come home
as i run off to fight the shadows in my head
with your heart as my shield and your love as my sword.
but the demons sucking like leeches, plastered to my skin
creatures made up of evil and sin
their warm steamy breath rotting my flesh
they will always win
you can listen for the explosion,
and surely you'll see
the demons, and all that she's done to me
the woman, who smells so sweet-
who's so pretty and smiles and shakes your hand-
if you listen for the explosion
surely you can see
what she was doing to me behind her curtains,
you'll watch the blood snake down the walls
taste the acid of death in the air-
when you reveal my body you expose your deepest fears.
but the demons, laughing, they won't care
you'll only be
With a crack of bones, I've fallen So love is a funny thing.
It sweeps you off your feet. It sweeps out your insides. It sweeps away everything else, whether you like it or not.
Falling in love is like falling into a cloud.
At first, it's not scary, no. It's beautiful. You're up high- so blissfully high- with billowing pushes and pulls of gorgeous white around you. At first, it's the most amazing thing you could ever think of. You could ever feel. The kind of feeling that can't be induced by the most potent drug. The kind of feeling that lifts you above all else, annihilates any ailments you'll ever have.
You collide with a beautiful array of a winter wonderland, a world of soft, divine dreams, an end to your hardships. Suddenly anything is possible. Suddenly, everything is possible.
And then you keep falling.
You don't realize it. Yo
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