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Artemis and ShadowThe ship takes time to dock properly.
Artemis sheds her coat, impatient. She hasn't seen dry land in god knows how long and Shadow... Shadow hasn't been too happy cooped up in the old treasure chest.
He's taken the form of a dog today. He wags his tail and brushes up against her legs like a cat, urging her to over to the railing. The sun is setting over the city. The water glimmers with slivers of gold.
Shadow squeezes, like smoke, through the rails and jumps in. He doesn't surface. She assumes he's taken the form of some sea life. She undoes the laces on her boats, toes the off, and climbs onto the ratlines.1
She jumps. The water is boiling, but then, what does she except so close to the edge of the world. They're going to dock the old galleon by the Brooklyn Bridge. Nothing makes sense. When has it ever?
Artemis swims towards the safety of the city lights. She feels Shadow touch her feet and then she's being lifted. He carries her, an invisible plane, shapeless beneath the water. She
Did you misplace something?"Did the ocean drag him in?
Did its waves lick at his fine hair?
Did they pause for a second and sweep up to make him theirs?
Did the tide take him slowly?
Or did it take it's time?
Did you see him?
Did you see him?
Did you see him drown?
Did you see his eyes stop?
And you could do nothing correct?"
The silence, Apparently answers,
Since one after the other she fired.
At last an interruption,
"I beg your pardon but I must weep."
"Of course sir, I understand, it must be hard."
"Oh, not for him, but for you ma'am,
And your misplaced curiosity."
After the BattleThe dead lie in,
visceral velvet fields,
obsidian pupils inlaid in,
once-upon-a-time portals to the mind.
Now only opaque pastels,
gazes fixed upon the sky,
a whispery ghost white film,
clings, obscures, degrades all reflection.
Pale fingers clutching for...
but only blood saturated soil.
Unspoken thoughts sink,
the anchors of trapped souls.
We Are MemoriesWe give away memories,
and chunks of ourselves,
until there's nothing left,
only empty shelves.
Others take in the boxes,
until they have no space,
and keep to themselves,
the moments we shared.
We dwindle away to leaves,
we used to be trees,
tombstones are by it's roots,
so the fact of our presence will remain forever.
But it is just a name,
and a name is not me,
I was made of memories,
not stone but wooden tree.
I LostThey took away my heart and buried it,
I lost a week searching,
found it did nothing but beat.
I lost a month in search of my lung,
found it long ago drowned at sea,
and the right could still breath.
I lost a year trying to get back my sight,
when I could still feel.
I lost a life in search of... when I could have lived.
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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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