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Clay Heavy steps thumped and crunched in the dense growth around the dig site. Dorothy Clay paced a few times, then broodily stalked into the darkness beneath the canopy. Here there were mysterious chitters and whoops that would eventually drown out her frustration.
Behind her she heard the camera crew still calling into the growing light. Occasionally a flashlight broke her solitude, so she kept walking deeper and deeper into the rainforest. Perhaps this delay would be enough to put them off this place; they couldn't very well continue without the enthusiastic Jessie Aylmer to dramatize history once again.
Certainly the newest member of her team was not happy about it. With the star of the show his limelight was also missing, and young Petter Stenson was aquiring a permanent pout on his handsome Scandanavian face. Served him right, the way he was posing and preening for the camera. He was new to the game, and had yet t
ConfidenceWhen I was alone before them
They asked me to speak
I knew I could
I wouldn't make any mistakes
I was too afraid of them
Afraid to be good be different
I can't be better and be happy
Better means cut off from the others
Was uneasy about the words I used
They would let me be excused
Confession of FearMy curiosity
It takes strange forms
I fear to say it
My voice is not my friend
And not to be trusted
I dream and in my dreams
I care little for the consequences
I rape and torture and kill
I even enjoy it
Yes, I really do enjoy it
Is that a crime?
I fear to speak
I do not trust my understanding of people
I write and when I write I think of people
There is no truth that cannot be changed
For them I will say anything
But not the truth
Never the truth
I can believe the words I make for them
I can betray my heart for them
I fear to tell the truth
I am not worthy of the trust I am given
I hate this fear
Above all else, this fear
They must never know how pathetic I am
How lazy and dishonest and conniving I am
They must never know that I
I forget their names
Forget the things they say
I fear to write this
Even now I dare not trust you, though I must strive
I am a fraud
Not because I have lied
A fraud because I have frozen in mid-step
I am tired of lying in my bed
I dream of discipline and kee
Taking Off My FaceHow is it that I knew
How to be someone else?
When I buckled my shoes
The toes turned of their own accord
When I draped black lace over my hands
The fingers became long and crooked
When I closed my eyes
To feel the soft darkness move over them
Over my cheeks and over my mind
I never opened them
Not until she washed herself away
The witch inside me melted in the water
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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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