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InfinityWe can create universes.
Infinity flows through our veins and only when we dig deep enough in the crevices of our very existence do we find the stars, nebulae, planets roaming within the particles that make up our DNA. These homes, these stories, they are a part of us. Every cell in our bodies can contain so many other worlds, so many other us's that we don't know about and that they don't know about and that's incredible, so very incredible.
Some days, however, a bit of this world may find its way into our life. We feel the sudden urge to create, to release the energy that's been pumped into our veins and itches itches itches to find a way out. It crawls its way into our brains and the nerves find it's too much, too much, so it sends it back and it courses through along our life streams and down to our arms or our legs and further to our wrists and ankles our hands and our feet our fingertips and our toes where we can't hold it in, our fingers
Falling: Prologue“If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does."
Saturday, June 9th, 2057: 5:17 A.M.
I woke to silence and knew I was alone. Of course I was used to this: waking up each and every morning to an empty house. It was almost as though one could hear their own breathing and, if they’re lucky and listen to the quiet hard enough, hear the sound of air hissing past their ears like when you place your ear to a conch and imagine that it’s the ocean.
Stiff joints popped and I flexed beneath the blankets- arched my back and let out a small grunt as sleep-ridden muscles were forced to work again. With much effort I worked my way out of the bed and lumbered to the bathroom across the too-quiet, too-dark hallway to relieve myself and look into the mirror with a scowl. My reflection scowled back.
Still half awake and barely functioning, I put my
The Stages of SpringI. Autumn's presence
Nothing but the crisp smell of
Fallen leaves and the in-and-out
Patterns of warm days laced with chill
II. Snow storms in March
Cold and ice when and where
It just shouldn't be
III. Lengthening days
And screwed up sleeping schedules
As night comes later
And an hour is lost from the day
Try not to have an early schedule that week
Because deep regret will follow with the first morning
IV. Flowers blooming and birds returning
Trees coming back to life with buds of pink
And chirps of winged beauties
Blessing the steadily-warming mornings
Warmth of the oncoming summertime
Unsure of a titleYou held my very existence within calloused fingers
And palms roughened from both playing stringed instruments
And catching yourself as you tripped over life’s speed bumps.
I wasn't broken, in the beginning.
Glued together and delicate, but not quite ruined.
You were gentle with my being and you cared
But I began to grow dark with age
My fingers grew slender from typing away my mind
And my limbs grew lined and dotted with scars
That were either intentional or accidental, I stopped keeping track at one point.
Eventually, it chased you away
And despite you staying, you weren't quite there with me
As the cracks grew more prominent and my mind grew heavy with beautiful thoughts
Of falling from your hands and crashing down into the icy dark of life’s ruthless grasp.
Of shattering upon impact and leaving everything behind.
You put me back on the shelf from which you found me,
Damaged and too close to the edge and left to collect dust.
Not that I minded; it
Squeaky Shoes and Vacant EyesSqueaky shoes and vacant eyes
Earbuds that hide a mind that lies
Music so loud to block out the noise
Caused by the judging girls and boys
Pale pink scars and shaking hands,
Snapping wrists with rubber bands.
Hair cut shorter, sleeves bought longer,
Hiding away so they can sit and ponder
The life they want to leave behind
But each day life will be sure to remind
Them to go outside with a smile and a lie
And to go back home and never cry.
And after all this time with every lie
They wait for the day they can say goodbye
To squeaky shoes and vacant eyes
And earbuds that shield a mind that wants to die
After-ThoughtsOne day he just kind of. . .Showed up.
He didn't have a name,
Or a reason,
Or a shape, at the time.
It was dark, so all I heard was a maturing voice coming from the shadows.
He just sauntered his way into my life
And made me so fucking angry:
Yet he was the light in my life.
Like I was a boat at sea
And he was the lighthouse;
He led me to shore and saved me from harsh waves.
I still encountered rough things-
Life can't ever spare you of them.
It's a bitch to deal with, am I right?
But he was there,
Always right there in that patch of grass lost in the woods.
Always when I needed him.
Most of the time, anyway.
He was the cause of so much turmoil
And panic attacks that had me curled up in the shower
Or under the covers
That smug little smart-ass didn't know what he did to me.
He was the cause of so much happiness
That I never had before he came along.
"Before he came along,".
Those were some damn-dark times.
I never left the house
Sometimes I like to think. . .Sometimes I like to think that no one would care if I disappeared.
Sometimes i like to think that they would hate me if I disappeared.
But I can’t; there are people here that need me. Not that they really care. But so long as they need me, I can’t leave. I'm not blessed with that privilege.
It works a little something like this: Someone that needs me will come into my life. I help them. “Fix” them, if you may. They make me feel happy. Loved. Like I actually mean something.
But as quickly as they enter my life, they’re gone. Once I’m no longer needed I’m cast aside- forgotten.
I think that’s all my existence is for. To help; and to be forgotten.
God, haven’t I suffered enough heartbreak? Of being forgotten.
I can only pray that one day I will be forgotten entirely. I will no longer be just a face in the crowd- I will no longer be just a name. I will no longer have a place in time
Section One: Self Definition and IdentityPre-Reading Question: What is the personal significance of your given name (first middle and last)? Does your name mean different things to you, your family, and your friends? What are your nicknames? What do your nicknames mean to you and those who call you those names?
1. First name: Erin. This doesn't have much personal significance other than the fact that it's the name I was given when I was born, it's the name on my baby blanket, and it's a short name that can't really be lengthened or shortened anymore than it already is. Middle name: Marie. A common middle name that also has absolutely no significance to me whatsoever. Lots of my friends share this middle name. Along with a good portion of other females.
Last name: Lunt. I've found the family crest for this when I had to make a family shield of sorts in fifth grade, but other than that, see the response to my first name.
2. My name really doesn't mean much of anything to me or the people in my life
Awareness WeekUnseen reason.
A girl wearing red,
A boy with a black ribbon on his wrist.
Orange butterflies on arms, legs, shoulders and stomachs.
Art on the skin of many,
Drawn by familiars, friends.
Stories of struggle,
Proof of succession.
Seven days, one purpose.
Red, black, orange.
I Dream About HerI dream about her, quite often, actually. It's been nearly two and a half years since I've seen her face to face, and it truly does break my heart when I remember the good times. She was one of my best friends, one of the greatest influences in my life, and someone who could make me smile. However, all good things must come to an end eventually.
Drugs don't just affect you, they affect your friends. When you've been roped into the bad crowd and refuse to turn to the people who love you most, you're going to lose everything you care about. Well, I cared for her, alright. We were nearly as inseparable as Sempai and I, hanging out nearly 24/7. Sure, there were fights, but every friend has a fight. It's when the line is drawn that things get messy.
In my dreams, I remember how she used to be, how fun she was, how silly she acted, and how she was just pleasant to have around. What happened? Why did she decide to go the way she went? To turn to lying, drug abusing, and overall not caring for
One last time. KristaXReaderFor music please listen
Highly recommended after the game scene though
"Two Kings!” Krista piped laying the cards on in the pot laying on my lap. She sat cross legged on the hospital bed with me. Sitting up straight and laid her cards face down in her lap leaning forward, now were both now down to one card. you looked up from my last card and glared at her. For such an innocent girl she had one hell of a poker face. you swallowed the lump in my throat and laid down my last card.
“One Ace.” you stated and crossed my arms challenging her to say it.
‘that’s it! the cat’s in the-’
“Bullshit!” She called out and flipped over the card that had just laid down….a queen,.
“Damn it Krista!” you shouted smacking the pile off my lap then pouted indignantly.
"Can't you just let me win for once." I asked. Krista giggled an
A little thing on BiphobiaFor those not in the loop, as I assume many of you are not, biphobia is just as terrible as homophobia.
If you haven't noticed my incredible gayness, I am bisexual. But wait! (you might be saying) You're bisexual, not gay!(?) Ha. HA. HAHAHAHAHA. No. I am gay. I am not a full on double diamond studded lesbian/gay rainbow, but a nice cute little bi rainbow that appears after a little rain. You know what I mean.
You probably didn't notice but BAM- that was biphobia.
The first point I'm going to bring up is that bisexuals are part of a magical, mystical triforce composed of themselves, asexuals, and pansexuals. For those unaware, an asexual is someone who does not particularly like sexual activities and a pansexual is someone who loves someone regardless of gender and sex. Why are they in this triforce? Because they are sexualities that are constantly believed to be made up. Why? Because many believe that it's IMPOSSIBLE to
How to love a guy who can't love himself.How to love a guy who really doesn’t love himself.
Well first, there are numerous ways you can do this, so just sit back and listen.
Number one rule, tell him to drop his façade, abandon the stereotypes that society places upon him, find the real him, the core, so fragile and so easily able to be hurt.
When you find the real him, who he really is, then look him in the eyes, past all that buff, and all of that strength and mutter a few simple words. ‘It’s okay to cry.’ And when he cries, when he falls to his knees and allows his body to tremble for the first time in decades, you put your hands on his shoulders and say, ‘Everything will be fine’.
And when he looks up at you, with tears in his eyes, shaking out of either shame or anger, you just smile at him, and say ‘No’, not because he’s crying but because you know he’s threatening to close himself off again to the world, and put on that face that he fe
Just me and you.
I don't know what your name is, but you're in my way.
And now it's time to deal with you.
Y'know every time I sit down to think, you always get in my way.
Whether you're trying to distract me, or you just stop me from thinking, you always try to stop me.
Not this time, fella. Or, lady, whichever you are, fuck if I know.
Well. Shall we dance?
Ok, so, let's try this;
I write a story, and this time, keep the hell away.
I'd like to write one continuous narrative where I don't quit halfway through, or have to completely revamp the characters and storyline just so I can keep writing.
Just. One. Story. And don't make up excuses to make me trip up and write a shitty one; I'd like to be actually good for once.
Ever since you turned up, I don't know where my touch went.
But I think I've found it again, and now it's time for you to pack your bags and get the hell out of my life.
Yeah...I think I can write again. How'd you like that, arsehole?
Good riddance to you. Have fun be
Why Can't I?
"For the love of God, stop your crying!" The camp sports instructor towers over me, her hands on her hips. The anger in her eyes makes me want to curl up in a ball and never wake up. "Get back up. Ya' fell only once, girl."
"I- I can't." I whisper through a choking sob. My head is spinning, my lungs feel like they're on fire, my feet... I can't even begin to explain. Maybe I should've told her about it. Then she would've cut me some slack.
"You heard me. Get up."
I flick my blonde hair away from my eyes and try to
RainAs the electric arc sizzles away like frying bacon, two pieces of steel are fused together into one mechanical mass. Its Thursday night, and for us its the last night of the work week. Weekend ahead, money in our pocket, endless possibilities.
But for now, there are 36" mower decks to run. Bright light on a dark night, smoke and sparks, and 8 hours of staring into a false star. The shop is filled with a light yellow haze, it drifts through the air like a ghost as we work away the hours till dawn.
It is warmer than previous nights, winter is coming to an end and spring begins. Its raining!
Not snowing, not hail, not ice that clings to all things, but the continual 'tap, tap, tap' of heavy rain, almost like the distant roar of a forgotten army.
Sparks fly and fill the night, the haze is stifling, creeping behind helmet and vale. Another hand crafted product is born, and ready for processing, on to the paint line and the day crew.
A hot steel plate that will be painted black, built up wit
Can I Just Say I Love You?Well… um… hello there. I didn't think you'd actually read this, but here goes nothing. So I sorta… you know… love you. Yea, I know it's strange to think about. Me of all people too. I just can't help be die a little inside when you say hi to me and walk to her. You know? I just kinda get a little jealous, but I'm too afraid to tell you I love you. So I wrote this note, hoping you'd read it somehow. So, why don't you just tell me you fell the same way? It would be wonderful to hear again. I know you are a little confused and I know this is strange. I'm not good a writing sonnets and I can't look at you in the eye except when I want you to see that I love you. So next time I see you, I'll look you in the eye. Then you'll know I mean it. Because I do. So, I hope I'll get a message from you or bump into you at the store.
I Can't Lose to You.My blood rushes.
My head is light.
I can't think straight anymore,
My only thought is; Fight.
Fight your criticism.
Fight your words.
Fight your taunting.
I hate myself like this,
Where all I see is red.
It only reminds me,
How I wish I were dead.
That way, I can hurt no one.
I can not give in.
I can not lose.
I can't. . .
I can't let you win.
I want to scream,
But I don't want to lose again.
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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