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gay chickenI played "Gay Chicken" with a friend,
he won of course, he always wins,
it's because he did it half-heartedly,
seriousness was never in it for a second with him.
My undoing was my audience.
My friend, who doesn't tan well
began a description of a man
with "well he's black-"
and uproar followed instantly,
hysteria and all hell raised up
and he was all from shunned to shot.
He was saying he was black haired.
The girl wondered so quietly,
not to be noticed.
The boy was in a hurry and stopped for nothing,
he pushed and barged the other boys,
they felt the faint bump,
it registered on some surface level.
Then he went through the doorway
and left the door to return to its rightful state
while the girl was walking towards.
Suddenly the girl was in a spotlight,
she was aided by all through the terrible trauma,
and all levels looked out for the fugitive scum
who refused to simply scrape his fingers against the door.
The girl is shy, she doesn't like spotlight.
Well holy hell,
isn't this perfect
My WillTo my Mother
I leave remnants of our time together
and a tissue for your tears.
To my Father
I leave remnants of our time together
and a discrete tissue for your tears.
To my Brother
I leave my materials of boyhood
wreck them well.
To my Sister
I leave money
buy my contrast to your hearts content.
To my Family
I leave a note of my love
share it fairly.
To my Friends
I leave the hope the you'd live happy on my behalf
and a tear for losing you all so soon.
To my Foes
I leave you forgiveness in exchange for yours
and a thanks for effecting my life to what it was.
To my Teachers
I leave you my final work to mark into the exhausting night.
To a Stranger
I leave you a good greeting
and an apology that I didn't offer it in life.
To the Dying
I leave you my healthy bones
take what you need, grant me this good deed.
To the Earth
When this fancy crate decays
I leave you my remains, I leave you me.
I leave you the Earth and the dying to travel fars and wides
live on without me dragging
Napoleons MusketOh what it is to be me,
stuck on a display across a map background
with infinite twins and triplets.
Splinters litter the shelf,
my broken comrades binned and burned,
and when peering through maroon tinged panes,
ribbon ropes with pretty coins can be seen bound to few,
they drape some of the scratches out of view.
Swords shining, short and silver
return some time later
all blunt and grey,
their width shaved, becoming old length.
They come home wrapped in a flag
of red, red and red,
along with a speckled maroon of tainted dust.
My life in a shell,
in the thievery of me,
my great leviathan, the paper leech,
a scar pointed on, a hole predicted.
Storm me true, eyes gouged open,
my hands and fingers configured
in marionette patriotism
and tiny chains of command
Let the slits on my back
be morse for remorse,
the scars spell dignity,
the medals spell shame.
Oh, what it is to be me,
an empty clip on the ground.
A notice of justificationThe pompous, whiny, pretentious wimp.
Emo, the word crashes at the cortex.
Douchebag, the description showers our neurons
in the breaking of an acid bath.
We fail to see the subtext of the written word,
poem and description alike.
Sympathy scratches at the inside of the computer screen
and empathy is crushed in a lump cracking our skull
that people behind stop to gawp and go gormless at.
This is a notice of justification,
that people behind the screen won't empathize with you,
they're simply statistics, peripheral pixels.
Vent at will and vindicate judgement,
feel the cynicism ooze off the lumps of empathy
and feel empathy ease free.
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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